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The Willoughby Captains

by Talbot Baines Reed · English · Gutenberg #21044 · 718,250 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: The Willoughby Captains

Author: Talbot Baines Reed


        
Release date: April 12, 2007 [eBook #21044]
                Most recently updated: November 7, 2013

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/21044

Credits: Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WILLOUGHBY CAPTAINS ***




Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England




The Willoughby Captains

By Talbot Baines Reed
________________________________________________________________________
This is one of this author's famous school stories.  Like a new boy or
girl at a school, you will be faced with learning the names of a great
many youngsters, and to an extent, their characters.  However, by the
time you get half-way through the book you will be familiar enough with
the principal characters.

Of course, there are numerous small dramas being acted out as the book
proceeds, but the main one concerns a boat-race between two of the
Houses.  Along the course there is a very tight bend.  The boat on the
outside of the bend is slightly in the lead but will probably lose this
due to the inside boat having less far to travel to the next straight.

At a most crucial moment, when maximum power is being exerted by the cox
on the rudder-lines, one of them snaps, and the boat goes out of
control.  The cox shouts the instructions for an emergency stop, and to
back water.  The other boat proceeds to the end of the course.  It can
now be seen that the rudder-line had been deliberately half cut through,
so that it would snap at that tight bend on the river.

For the rest of the book people are trying to work out who had done this
deed.  At one stage we think we know the answer.  We become quite
convinced we know the answer, in fact.  But we are wrong, and we do not
find out till almost the end of the book.  And it is to be hoped that at
that point the promised re-row takes place.

There is some confusion with names in respect of Merrison and Morrison,
but I suspect that to be a printer's error.  It is not of great
importance, since he is (or they are) not front-line characters in the
action.

The punctuation becomes very difficult in the reporting of the
proceedings of the school parliament, because not only do you have the
current speaker, but interspersed with it are comments by the raconteur
and by the noisier of the boys.  The printed book settled for a
simplified version here, but we have done our best to give you a
version that is more according to rule.
________________________________________________________________________
THE WILLOUGHBY CAPTAINS

BY TALBOT BAINES REED



CHAPTER ONE.

THE LAST OF THE OLD CAPTAIN.

Something unusual is happening at Willoughby.  The Union Jack floats
proudly over the old ivy-covered tower of the school, the schoolrooms
are deserted, there is a band playing somewhere, a double row of
carriages is drawn up round the large meadow (familiarly called "The
Big"), old Mrs Gallop, the orange and sherbert woman, is almost beside
herself with business flurry, and boys are going hither and thither,
some of them in white ducks with favours on their sleeves, and others in
their Sunday "tiles," with sisters and cousins and aunts in tow, whose
presence adds greatly to the brightness of the scene.

Among these last-named holiday-making young Willoughbites no one parades
more triumphantly to-day than Master Cusack, of Welch's House, by the
side of his father, Captain Cusack, R.N.  Cusack, ever since he came to
Willoughby, has bored friend and foe with endless references to "the
gov., captain in the R.N., you know," and now that he really has a
chance of showing off his parent in the flesh his small head is nearly
turned.  He puffs along like a small steam-tug with a glorious man-of-
war in tow, and is too anxious to exhibit his prize in "The Big" to do
even the ordinary honours of the place to his relative.

Captain Cusack, R.N., the meekest and most amiable of men, resigns
himself pleasantly to the will of his dutiful conductor, only too
pleased to see the boy so happy, and pardonably gratified to know that
he himself is the special object of that young gentleman's jubilation.
He had come down, hoping for a quiet hour or two to see his boy and
inspect Willoughby, but he finds that, instead, he is to be inspected
himself, and, though he wouldn't thwart the lad for the world, he would
just as soon have dropped in at Willoughby on a rather less public
occasion.

Young Cusack, as is the manner of small tugs, assumes complete control
of his parent and rattles away incessantly as he conducts him through
the grounds, past the school, towards the all-attracting "Big."

"That's Welch's," he says, pointing to the right wing of the long Tudor
building before them--"that's Welch's on the right, and Parrett's in the
middle, and the schoolhouse on the left.  Jolly rooks' nests in the
schoolhouse elms, only Paddy won't let us go after them."

"Who is Paddy?" inquires the father.

"Oh, the doctor, you know--Dr Patrick.  You'll see him down in `The
Big,' and his dame, and--"

"And what's written up over the door there?" inquires Captain Cusack,
pointing up to the coat-of-arms above the great doorway.

"Oh, some Latin bosh!  I don't know.  I say, we'd better look sharp,
father, or they'll have started the open hurdles."

"What are the open hurdles?" mildly inquires the somewhat perplexed
captain, who has been at sea so long that he is really not up to all the
modern phrases.

"Why, you know, it's the sports, and there are two open events, the
hurdles and the mile, and we've got Rawson, of the London Athletic, down
against us in both; but I rather back Wyndham.  He made stunning time in
the March gallops, and he's in prime form now."

"Is Wyndham a Willoughby boy?"

"Rather.  He's our cock, you know, and this will be his last show-up.
Hullo! you fellows," he cries, as two other small boys approach at a
trot; "what's on?  Have the hurdles started?  By the way, this is my
father, you know; he came down."

The two small boys, who are arrayed in ducks and running-shoes, shake
hands rather sheepishly with the imposing visitor and look shyly up and
down.

"And are you running in any of the races, my men?" says Captain Cusack,
kindly.

He couldn't have hit on a happier topic.  The two are at their ease at
once.

"Yes, sir, the junior hundred yards.  I say, Cusack, your gov--your
father's just in time for the final heat.  In the first I had a dead
heat with Watkins, you know," continues he, addressing the captain.
"Watkins was scratch, and I had five yards, and the ruck got ten.  It
was a beastly shame giving Filbert ten, though--wasn't it, Telson?--
after his running second to me in the March gallops; they ought to have
stuck him where I was.  But I ran him down all the same, and dead-heated
it with Watkins, and Telson here was a good second in his heat."

"I was sure of a first, but that young ass Wace fouled me," puts in
Telson.

"And now it's dead-even which of us two wins.  We both get five yards on
Watkins, and he'll be pumped with the long jump, and none of the others
are hot men, so it's pretty well between us two, isn't it, Telson?"

"Rather, and I think I back you to do it, Parson, old man," rejoins the
generous Telson.

"Oh, I don't know," says Parson, dubiously; "you're a better man on the
finish, I fancy."

"All depends on how I take off.  Gully's such a boshy starter, you know;
always puts me out.  Why can't they let Parrett do it?"

And off they rattle, forgetting all about Cusack and his gallant father,
and evidently convinced in their own minds that the flags and the
carriages and the rosettes and all the festivities are solely in honour
of the final heat of the junior hundred yards, in which they two are to
take part.

Captain Cusack, with a smile on his face, watches them trot off, and
asks his son, "Who are those two nice young fellows?"

"Oh, a couple of kids--not in our house," replies Master Cusack, by no
means cordially.  "Jolly cheek of them talking to you like that,
though!"

"Not at all," says the captain.  "I'd like to see their race, Harry."

But Harry has no notion of throwing his father away upon the "junior
hundred yards," and as they are now in "The Big," in the midst of the
festive assembly there congregated, he is easily able to shirk the
question.

An important event is evidently just over.  The company has crowded into
the enclosure, and boys, ladies, gentlemen, masters are all mixed up in
one great throng through which it is almost impossible for even so
dexterous a tug as young Cusack to pilot his worthy relative.

The band is playing in the pavilion, distant cheers are audible in the
direction of the tents, a shrill uproar is going on in the corner where
the junior hundred yards is about to begin, and all around them is such
a buzz of talking and laughing that Captain Cusack is fairly bewildered.

He would like to be allowed to pay his respects to the Doctor and Mrs
Patrick, and to his boy's master, and would very much like to witness
the exploits of those two redoubtable chums Telson and Parson; but he is
not his own master, and has to do what he is told.  Young Cusack is
shouting every minute to acquaintances in the crowd that he has got his
father here.  But every one is so wedged up that the introductions
chiefly consist of a friendly nodding and waving of the hand at the
crowd indefinitely from the gallant father, who would not for the world
be anything but gracious to his son's friends, but who cannot for the
life of him tell which of the score of youthful faces darting sidelong
glances in their direction is the particular one he is meant to be
saluting.  At last in the press they stumble upon one boy at close
quarters, whom Cusack the younger captures forthwith.

"Ah, Pil, I was looking for you.  Here's the--my father, I mean--R.N.,
you know."

"How are you, captain?" says the newcomer.  He had heard Captain Cusack
was coming over, and had mentally rehearsed several times what it seemed
to him would be the most appropriate salutation under the circumstances.

The captain says he is very well, and likes the look of Mr "Pil" (whose
real name is Pilbury), and looks forward to a little pleasant chat with
his son's friend.  But this hope is doomed to be a disappointment, for
Pil is in a hurry.

"Just going to get the house tubs ready," he says; "I'll be back in time
for the mile."

"Then is the hurdles over?"

"Rather!" exclaims Pil, in astonishment.  "Why, where have you been?  Of
course you know who won?"

"No," says Cusack, eagerly--"who?"

"Why, Wyndham!  You never saw such a race!  At the fourth hurdle from
home Wyndham, Bloomfield, Game, Tipper, and Rawson were the only ones
left in.  Game and Tipper muffed the jump, and it was left to the other
three.  Bloomfield had cut out grandly.  He was a yard or two ahead,
then Wyndham, and the London man lying out, ten yards behind.  He had
been going pretty easily, but he lammed it on for the next hurdle, and
pulled up close.  The three went over almost even, and then Bloomfield
was out of it.  My eye, Cusack! you should have seen the finish after
that!  The London fellow fancied he was going to win in a canter, but
old Wyndham stuck to him like a leech, and after the last fence ran him
clean down--the finest thing you ever saw--and won by a yard.  Wasn't it
prime?  Ta, ta!  I'm off now; see you again at the mile;" and off he
goes.

The glorious victory of Willoughby at the hurdles has evidently been as
much of a surprise as it has been a triumph, and everyone is full of
hope now that the result of the "mile" may be equally satisfactory.  In
the midst of all the excitement and enthusiasm it suddenly occurs to the
business-like Master Cusack that he had better secure a good position
for the great race without delay, and accordingly he pilots his father
out of the crush, and makes for a spot near the winning-post, where the
crowd at the cords has a few gaps; and here, by a little unscrupulous
shoving, he contrives to wedge himself in, with his father close behind,
at about the very best spot on the course, with a full view of the last
two hundred yards, and only a few feet from the finish.

It is half an hour before the race is due, and, by way of beguiling the
time, Cusack shouts to one and another of his acquaintances opposite,
and introduces his father to the crowd generally.  The course has not
yet been cleared, so there is plenty of variety as the stream of
passers-by drifts along.  Among the last, looking about anxiously for a
place to stand and watch the big race, are Telson and Parson, arm-in-
arm.

Captain Cusack hails them cheerily.

"Well, who won, my boys? who won?"

The dejected countenances of the two heroes is answer enough.

"Watkins won," says Parson, speaking in a subdued voice.  "The fact is,
my shoe-lace came undone just when I was putting it on at the end."

"And the swindle is," puts in Telson, "that just as I was spurting for
the last twenty yards Watkins took my water.  I could have fouled him,
you know, but I didn't care to."

"Fact is," says Parson, insinuating himself under the cords, greatly to
the indignation of some other small boys near, "it's a chowse letting
Watkins enter for the juniors.  I'm certain he's not under thirteen--is
he, Telson?"

"Not a bit of him!" says Telson, who has also artfully squeezed himself
into the front rank hard by; "besides, he's a Limpet, and Limpets have
no right to run as juniors."

"What is a Limpet?" asks Captain Cusack of his son.

"I don't know what else you call him," says young Cusack, rather
surlily, for he is very wroth at the way Telson has sneaked himself into
a rather better position than his own; "he's--he's a Limpet, you know."

"Limpets," says a gentleman near, "are the boys in the middle school."

"Rather a peculiar name," suggests the captain.

"Yes; it means an inhabitant of Limbo, the Willoughby name for the
middle school, because the boys there are supposed to be too old to have
to fag, and too young to be allowed to have fags."

"Ha, ha!" laughs Captain Cusack, "a capital name;" and he and the
gentleman get up a conversation about their own school days which
beguiles the time till the bell sounds for the great race of the day.

The starting-point is a little below where our friends are standing, and
the race is just three times round the course and a few yards at the end
up to the winning-post.  Only four runners are starting, three of whom
have already distinguished themselves in the hurdle-race.  Wyndham, the
school captain, is that tall, handsome fellow with the red stripe in
front of his jersey, who occupies the inside "berth" on the starting-
line.  Next to him is Ashley; also wearing the school stripe; and
between Ashley and the other schoolboy, Bloomfield, is Rawson, the
dreaded Londoner, a practised athlete, whose whiskered face contrasts
strangely with the smooth, youthful countenances of his competitors.

"Ashley's to cut out the running for Willoughby this time," says Telson,
"and he'll do it too; he's fresh."

So he is.  At the signal to start he rushes off as if the race was a
quarter of a mile instead of a mile, and the Londoner, perplexed by his
tactics, starts hard also, intending to keep him in hand.  Bloomfield
and Wyndham, one on each side of the track, began rather more easily,
and during the first lap allow themselves to drop twelve or fifteen
yards behind.  The Londoner quickly takes in the situation, but
evidently doesn't quite know whether to keep up to Ashley or lie up like
the others.  If he does the latter, the chances are the fresh man may
get ahead beyond catching, and possibly win the race; and if he does the
former--well, has he the wind to hold out when the other two begin to
"put it on"?  He thinks he has, so he keeps close up to Ashley.

The cheers, of course, all round the field are tremendous, and nowhere
more exciting than where Telson and Parson are located.  As the runners
pass them at the end of the first lap the excitement of these youths
breaks forth into terrific shouts.

"Well run, Ashley; keep it up!  He's blowing!  Put it on there, Wyndham;
now's your time, Bloomfield!"  And before the cries have left their lips
the procession has passed, and the second lap has begun.

Towards the end of the second lap Ashley shows signs of flagging, and
Bloomfield is quickening his pace.

"Huzza!" yells Parson; "Bloomfield's going to take it up now.  Jolly
well-planned cut-out, eh, Telson?"

"Rather!" shrieks Telson.  "Here they come!  Whiskers is ahead.  Now,
Willoughby--well run indeed!  Lam it on, Bloomfield, you're gaining.
Keep it up, Ashley.  Now, Wyndham; now!"

Ashley drops gradually to the rear, and before the final lap is half
over has retired from the race, covered with glory for his useful piece
of work.  But anxious eyes are turned to the other three.  The Londoner
holds his own, and Bloomfield's rush up seems to have come to nothing.
About a quarter of a mile from home an ominous silence drops upon the
crowd, and for a few moments Willoughby is too disheartened to cheer.
Then at last there rises a single wild cheer somewhere.  What is it?
The positions are still the same, and-- No!  _Both_ Wyndham and
Bloomfield are gaining; and as the discovery is made there goes up such
a shout that the rooks in the elms start away from their nests in a
panic.

Never was seen such a gallant spurt in that old meadow.  Foot by foot
the two Willoughby boys pull up and lessen the hateful distance which
divides them from the leader.  He of course sees his danger, and answers
spurt for spurt.  For a few yards he neither gains nor loses, then,
joyful sight, he loses!

"Look at them now!" cries Telson, as they approach--"look at them both.
They're both going to win!  Ah, well run, Willoughby--splendidly run;
you're going like mad--keep it up!  Huzzah! level.  Keep it up!
Wyndham's ahead; so's Bloomfield.  Both ahead!  Well run both.  Keep it
up now.  Hurrah!"

Amid such shouts the race ends.  Wyndham first, Bloomfield a yard
behind, and the Londoner, dead beat, a yard behind Bloomfield.

What wonder if the old school goes mad as it swarms over the cords and
dashes towards the winner?  Telson actually forgets Parson, Cusack
deserts even his own father in the jubilation of the moment, each
striving to get within cheering distance of the heroes of the day as
they are carried shoulder-high round the ground amid the shouts and
applause of the whole multitude.

So ended, in a victory unparalleled in its glorious annals, the May Day
races of 19-- at Willoughby; and there was not a fellow in the school,
whether athlete or not, whose bosom did not glow with pride at the
result.  That the school would not disgrace herself everyone had been
perfectly certain, for was not Willoughby one of the crack athletic
schools of the country, boasting of an endless succession of fine
runners, and rowers, and cricketers?  But to score thus off a picked
London athlete, beating him in two events, and in one of them doubly
beating him, was a triumph only a very few had dared to anticipate, and
even they were considerably astonished to find their prophecy come true.

Perhaps the person least excited by the entire day's events was the hero
of the day himself.  Wyndham, the old captain, as he now was--for this
was his last appearance at the old school--was not the sort of fellow to
get his head turned by anything if he could help it.  He hated scenes of
any sort, and therefore took a specially long time over his bath, which
his fag had prepared for him with the most lavish care.  Boys waylaid
his door and the schoolhouse gate for a full hour ready to cheer him
when he came out; but he knew better than to gratify them and finally
they went off and lionised Bloomfield instead, who bore his laurels with
rather less indifference.

The old captain, however, could not wholly elude the honours destined
for him.  Dinner in the big hall that afternoon was crowded to
overflowing.  And when at its close the doctor stood up and, in
accordance with immemorial custom, proposed the health of the old
captain, who, he said, was not only head classic, but _facile princeps_
in all the manly sports for which Willoughby was famed, you would have
thought the old roof was coming down with the applause.  Poor Wyndham
would fain have shirked his duty, had he been allowed to do it.  But
Willoughby would as soon have given up a week of the summer holiday as
have gone without the captain's speech.

As he rose to his feet deafening cries of "Well run, sir; well run!"
drowned any effort he could have made at speaking; and he had to stand
till, by dint of sheer threats of violence, the monitors had reduced the
company to order.  Then he said, cheers interrupting him at every third
word, "I'm much obliged to the doctor for speaking so kindly about me.
You fellows know the old school will get on very well after I've gone.
(No! no!)  Willoughby always does get on, and any one who says, `No!
no!' ought to know better."

The applause at this point was overpowering; and the few guilty ones
tried hard, by joining in it, to cover their shame.

"I've had a jolly time here, and am proud of being a Willoughby captain.
I shouldn't be a bit proud if I didn't think it was the finest school
going.  And the reason it's the finest school is because the fellows
think first of the school and next of themselves.  As long as they do
that Willoughby will be what she is now.  Thank you, doctor, and you,
fellows."

These were the last words of the old captain.  He left Willoughby next
day, and few of the boys knew what they had lost till he had gone.

How he was missed, and how these parting words of his came often to ring
in the ears of the old school during the months that were to follow,
this story will show.



CHAPTER TWO.

FOUR HOURS IN A FAG'S LIFE.

Willoughby wore its ordinary work-a-day look on the morning following
the eventful May races.  And yet any one who had seen the old school
just then would have admitted that a more picturesque place could hardly
have been found.  It was one of those lovely early summer days when
everything looks beautiful, and when only schoolboys can have the heart
to lie in bed.  The fresh scent of the sea came up with the morning air
across the cliff-bound uplands; and far away, from headland to headland
of Craydle Bay, the waters glowed and sparkled in the sunlight.  Inland,
too, along by the river, the woods were musical with newly-awakened
birds, and the downs waved softly with early hay.  And towering above
all, amid its stately elms, and clad from end to end with ivy, stood the
old school itself, glowing in morning brightness, as it had stood for
two centuries past, and as those who know and love it hope it may yet
stand for centuries to come.

But though any one else could hardly have failed to be impressed with
the loveliness of such a morning in such a spot, on Master Frederick
Parson, head monitor's fag of Parrett's House, as he kicked the
bedclothes pensively off his person, and looked at the watch under his
pillow, the beauties of nature were completely lost.  Parson was in a
bad frame of mind that morning.  Everything seemed against him.  He'd
been beaten in the junior hundred yards yesterday, so had Telson.  Just
their luck.  They'd run in every race for the last two years, and never
won so much as a shilling penknife yet.  More than that; just because he
had walked across the quadrangle to see Telson home after supper last
night (Telson belonged to the SchoolHouse) he had been caught by a
monitor and given eight French verbs to write out for being out-of-
doors, after lock-up.  What harm, Parson would like to know, was there
in seeing a friend across the quad?  Coates, the monitor, probably had
no friend--he didn't deserve to have one--or he wouldn't have been down
on Parson for a thing like that.

Then, further than that, he (Parson) had not looked at his Caesar, and
Warton had promised to report him to the doctor next time he showed up
without preparation.  Bother Warton! bother the doctor! bother Caesar!
what did they all want to conspire together for against a wretched
junior's peace?  He'd have to cram up the Caesar from Telson's crib
somehow, only the nuisance was Bloomfield had fixed on this particular
morning for a turn on the river with Game, and Parson would of course
have to steer for them.  Just his luck again!  He didn't mind steering
for Bloomfield, of course, and if he must fag he'd as soon fag for him
as anybody, especially now that he would be captain of the eleven and of
the boats; but how, Parson wanted to know, was he to do his Caesar and
his French verbs, and steer Bloomfield and Game up the river at one and
the same time?  He couldn't take the books in the boat.

Well, he supposed he'd have to get reported; and probably "Paddy" would
give it him on the hands.  He was always getting it on the hands, far
oftener than Telson, who was Riddell's fag, and never had to go and
steer boats up the river.  In fact, Riddell, he knew, looked over
Telson's lessons for him--catch Bloomfield doing as much for Parson!

All these considerations tended greatly to impair the temper of Master
Parson this beautiful morning.  But the worst grievance of all was that
he had to get up that moment and call Bloomfield, or else he'd get a
licking.  That would be worse any day than getting it on the hands from
the doctor.

So he kicked off the clothes surlily, and put one foot out of bed.  But
the other was a long time following.  For Parson was fagged.  He'd
dreamt all night of that wretched hundred yards, and wasn't a bit
refreshed; and if he had been refreshed, he'd got those eight French
verbs and the Caesar on his mind, and he could have done them
comfortably in bed.  But--

A sudden glance at the watch in his hand cut short all further
meditation.  Parson is out of his bed and into his flannels in the
twinkling of an eye, and scuttling down the passage to his senior's room
as if the avenger of blood was at his heels.

Bloomfield, if truth must be told, is as disinclined to get up as his
fag has been; and Parson has almost to use personal violence before he
can create an impression on his lord and master.

"What's the time?" demands the senior.

"Six--that is, a second or two past," replies Parson.

"Why didn't you call me punctually?" asks Bloomfield, digging his nose
comfortably into the pillow.  "What do you mean by a second or two?"

"It's only seven past," says Parson, in an injured tone.

"Very well; go and see if Game's up."

Parson skulks off to rouse Game, knowing perfectly well that Bloomfield
will be sound asleep again before he is out of the door, which turns out
to be the case.  After super-human efforts to extract from Game an
assurance that he's getting up that moment, and Parson needn't wait, the
luckless fag returns to find his master snoring like one of the seven
sleepers.  The same process has to be repeated.  Shouts and shakes, and
an occasional sly pinch, have no effect.  Parson is tempted to leave his
graceless lord to his fate, and betake himself to his French verbs; but
a dim surmise as to the consequences prevents him.  At last he braces
himself up for one desperate effort.  With a mighty tug he snatches the
clothes off the bed, and, dragging with all his might at the arm of the
obstinate hero, yells out, "I say, Bloomfield, it's half-past six, and
you wanted to be up at six.  Get up!"

The effect of these combined efforts is that Bloomfield sits up in bed,
rubbing his eyes, and demands, "Half-past six!  Why didn't you call me
at six, you young cad, eh?"

"So I did."

"Don't tell crams.  If you'd called me at six I should have been up,
shouldn't I?" exclaimed Bloomfield.  "I tell you I did call you,"
retorts the fag.

"Look here," says Bloomfield, becoming alarmingly wide-awake, "I don't
want any of your cheek.  Go and see if Game's up, and then see if the
boat's ready.  The tub-pair, mind; look sharp!"

"Please, Bloomfield," says Parson, meekly, "do you mind if I get Parks
to cox you?  I've not looked at my Caesar yet, and I've got eight French
verbs to do besides for Coates."

"Do you hear me?  Go and see if Game's up," replies Bloomfield.  "If you
choose not to do your work overnight, and get impositions for breaking
rules into the bargain, it's not my lookout, is it?"

"But I only went--" begins the unfortunate Parson.

"I'll went you with the flat of a bat if you don't cut," shouts
Bloomfield.  Whereat his fag vanishes.

Game, of course, is fast asleep, but on him Parson has no notion of
bestowing the pains he had devoted to Bloomfield.  Finding the sleeper
deaf to all his calls, he adopts the simple expedient of dipping the end
of a towel in water and laying it neatly across the victim's face,
shouting in his ear at the same time, "Game, I say, Bloomfield's waiting
for you down at the boats."  Having delivered himself of which, he
retreats rather hastily, and only just in time.

The row up the river that morning was rather pleasant than otherwise.
When once they were awake the morning had its effect on the spirits of
all three boys.  Even Parson, sitting lazily in the stern, listening to
the Sixth Form gossip of the two rowers, forgot about his Caesar and
French verbs, and felt rather glad he had turned out after all.

The chief object of the present expedition was not pleasure by any means
as far as Bloomfield and Game were concerned.  It was one of a series of
training practices in anticipation of the school regatta, which was to
come off on the second of June, in which the rival four-oars of the
three houses were to compete for the championship of the river.  The
second of June was far enough ahead at present, but an old hand like
Bloomfield knew well that the time was all too short to lick his crew
into shape.  Parrett's boat, by all ordinary calculation, ought to win,
for they had a specially good lot of men this year; and now Wyndham had
left, the schoolhouse boat would be quite an orphan.  Bloomfield himself
was far away the best oar left in Willoughby, and if he could only get
Game to work off a little of his extra fat, and bully Tipper into
reaching better forward, and break Ashley of his trick of feathering
under water, he had a crew at his back which it would be hard indeed to
beat.  This morning he was taking Game in hand, and that substantial
athlete was beginning to find out that "working off one's extra fat" in
a tub-pair on a warm summer morning is not all sport.

"I wonder if Tipper and Ashley will show, up," said Bloomfield, who was
rowing bow for the sake of keeping a better watch on his pupil.  "They
promised they would.  Ashley, you know--(do keep it up, Game, you're
surely not blowed yet)--Ashley's about as much too light as you are too
fat--(try a little burst round the corner now; keep us well out, young
'un)--but if he'll only keep his blade square till he's out of the
water--(there you go again!  Of course you're hot; that's what I brought
you out for.  How do you suppose you're to boil down to the proper
weight unless you do perspire a bit?)--he'll make a very decent bow.
Ah, there are Porter and Fairbairn in the schoolhouse tub--(you needn't
stop rowing, Game; keep it up, man; show them how you can spurt).  I
never thought they'd try Porter in their boat.  They might as well try
Riddell.  Just shows how hard-up they must be for men.  How are you?" he
cried, as the schoolhouse tub went clumsily past, both rowers looking
decidedly nervous under the critical eye of the captain of Parrett's.

Poor Game, who had been kept hard at it for nearly a mile, now fairly
struck, and declared he couldn't keep it up any longer, and as he had
really done a very good spell of work, Bloomfield consented to land at
the Willows and bathe; after which he and Game would run back, and young
Parson might scull home the tub.

Which delightful plan Master Parson by no means jumped at.  He had
calculated on getting at least a quarter of an hour for his Caesar
before morning chapel if they returned as they had come.  But now, if he
was expected to lug that great heavy boat back by himself, not only
would he not get that, but the chances were he would get locked out for
chapel altogether, and it would be no excuse that he had had to act as
galley-slave for Bloomfield or anybody else.

"Look alive!" cries Bloomfield from the bank, where he is already
stripped for his header.  "And, by the way, on your way up go round to
Chalker's and tell him only to stick up one set of cricket nets in our
court; don't forget, now.  Be quick; you've not too much time before
chapel."

Saying which, he takes a running dive from the bank and leaves the
luckless Parson to boil over inwardly as he digs his sculls spitefully
into the water and begins his homeward journey.

Was life worth living at this rate?  If he didn't tell Chalker about the
nets that imbecile old groundsman would be certain to stick up half a
dozen sets, and there'd be no end of a row.  That was 7:30 striking now,
and he had to be in the chapel at five minutes to eight, and Chalker's
hut was a long five minutes from the boat-house.  And then those eight
French verbs and that Caesar--

It was no use thinking about them, and Parson lashed out with his
sculls, caring little if that hulking tub went to the bottom.  He'd
rather like it, in fact, for he wanted a swim.  He hadn't even had time
to tub that morning, and it was certain there'd be no time now till
goodness knew when--not till after second school, and then probably he'd
be spending a pleasant half-hour in the doctor's study.

At this point he became aware of another boat making down on him, manned
by three juniors, who were making up in noise and splashing what they
lacked in style and oarsmanship.

Parson knew them yards away.  They were rowdies of Welch's house, and he
groaned inwardly at the prospect before him.  The boy steering was our
old acquaintance Pilbury, and as his boat approached he shouted out
cheerily, "Hullo, there, Parson! mind your eye!  We'll race you in--give
you ten yards and bump you in twenty!  Pull away, you fellows!  One,
two, three, gun!  Off you go!  Oh, well rowed, my boat!  Now you've got
him!  Wire in, now!  Smash him up! scrunch him into the bank!  Hooroo!
two to one on us!  Lay on to it, you fellows; he can't go straight!  Six
more strokes and you're into him!  One, two, three--ha, ha! he's funking
it!--four, five--now a good one for the last--six!  Hooroo! bump to us!
Welch's for ever!"

So saying, the hostile boat came full tilt on to the stern of the
Parrett's tub, and the outraged Parson found himself next moment
sprawling on his back, with the nose of his boat firmly wedged into the
clay bank of the river, while his insulting adversaries sped gaily away
down stream, making the morning hideous with their shouts and laughter.

This little incident, as may be supposed, did not tend to compose the
fluttered spirits of the unhappy Frederick.  To say nothing of the
indignity of being deliberately run down and screwed into the bank by a
crew of young "Welchers," the loss of time involved in extricating his
boat from the muddy obstacle which held her by the nose, put all chance
of getting in in time to go round to Chalker's before chapel out of the
question.  Indeed, it looked very like a shut-out from chapel too, and
that meant no end of a row.

By a super-human effort he got his boat clear, and sculled down hard
all, reaching the boat-house at seven minutes to eight.  He had just
presence of mind enough to shout the message for Chalker to the boat-
boy, with a promise of twopence if he delivered it at once; and then
with a desperate rush he just succeeded in reaching the chapel and
squeezing himself in at the door as the bell ceased ringing.

Chapel was not, under the circumstances, a very edifying service to
Parson that morning.  His frame of mind was not devotional, and his
feelings of bottled-up wrath at what was past, and dejected anticipation
of what was to come, left between them no room for interest in or
meaning for the words in which his schoolfellows were joining.  The only
satisfaction morning prayers brought to him was that, for ten minutes at
least, no one could harry him; and that at least was something to be
grateful for.

Morning chapel at Willoughby was supposed to be at 7:15, and was at 7:15
all the months of the year except May, June, and July, when, in
consideration of the early-morning rowing and bathing, it was postponed
for three-quarters of an hour--a concession made up for by the sacrifice
of the usual half-hour's interval between breakfast and first lesson.

This arrangement was all against Parson, who, if the half-hour had been
still available, could at least have skimmed through his Caesar, and
perhaps have begged a friend to help him with the French verbs, and
possibly even have had it out with Pilbury for his morning's diversion.
As it was, there was no opportunity for the performance of any one of
these duties, and at the sound of the pitiless bell he slunk into first
lesson, feeling himself a doomed man.

His one hope was Telson.  Telson sat next him in class, and, he knew
well, would help him if he could.

"Telson," he groaned, directly he found himself beside his faithful
ally, "I've not looked at it!"

Telson whistled.  "There'll be a row," he muttered, consolingly; "it's a
jolly hard bit."

"Haven't you got the crib?"

Telson looked uncomfortable.  "Riddell caught me with it and made me
give it up."

"What on earth business has Riddell with your cribs, I'd like to know?"
exclaimed Parson, indignant, not at all on the question of morality, but
because the last straw on which he had relied for scrambling through his
Caesar had failed him.

"He didn't take it, but he advised me to give it up."

"And you were fool enough to give in to him?"

"Well, he made out it wasn't honourable to use cribs," said Telson.

"Grandmother!" snarled Parson.  "Why, Telson, I didn't think you'd have
been such a soft!"

"No more did I, but somehow--oh!  I'm awfully sorry, old man; I'll try
and get it back."

"Doesn't much matter," said Parson, resignedly.  "I'm in for it hot to-
day."

"I'll prompt you all I can," said the repentant Telson.

"Thanks; I'd do the same to you if I could," replied Parson.

"It is a long lane that has no turning," as the proverb says, and
Parson, after all, was destined to enjoy one brief glimpse of the smiles
of fortune that day.  The first boy put up to translate stumbled over a
somewhat intricate point of syntax.  Now Mr Warton, the master--as the
manner of many masters is--was writing a little book on Latin Syntax,
and this particular passage happened to be a superb example of a certain
style of construction which till this moment had escaped his notice.
Delighted with the discovery, he launched out into a short lecture on
the subject generally, citing all the examples he had already got in his
book, and comparing them with other forms of construction to be found
scattered through the entire range of Latin classical literature.

How Parson and Telson enjoyed that lecture!  They listened to it with
rapt attention with hearts full of gratitude and faces full of sympathy.
They did not understand a word of it, but a chapter out of "Midshipman
Easy" could not have delighted them more; and when they saw that the
clock had slowly worked round from nine to ten they would not have
interrupted it for the world.

"Ah!" said Mr Warton, taking out his watch, "I see time's up.  We've
had more Syntax than Caesar to-day.  Never mind, it's a point worth
remarking, and sure to be useful as you get on in Latin.  The class is
dismissed."

Little he knew the joy his words carried to two small hearts in his
audience.

"Jolly good luck that!" said Parson, as he strolled out into the passage
arm-in-arm with his friend.  "Now if I can only get those beastly verbs
done before Coates asks for them!  I say, Telson, do you know the dodge
for sticking three nibs on one pen and writing three lines all at one
time?"

"Tried it once," said Telson, "but it didn't pay.  It took longer to
keep sticking them in when they fell out, and measuring them to write on
the lines, than to write the thing twice over the ordinary way.  I'll
write out part, old man."

"Thanks, Telson, you're an awful brick.  I suppose Riddell wouldn't
think it wicked of you to write another fellow's impot, would he?"

"I half fancy he would; but I won't tell him.  Hullo! though, here comes
Coates."

A monitor wearing his "mortar-board" approached.

"Where's your imposition, Parson?" he asked.

"I'm awfully sorry," said Parson, "but it's not quite done yet, Coates."

"How much is done?" demanded Coates.

"Not any yet," said Parson, with some confusion.  "I was just going to
begin.  Wasn't I, Telson?"

"Won't do," said Coates; "you were up the river this morning, I saw you.
If you can go up the river you can do your impositions.  Better come
with me to the captain."

Coming with a monitor to the captain meant something unpleasant.  The
discipline of Willoughby, particularly in outside matters, was left
almost entirely in the hands of the monitors, who with the captain,
their head, were responsible as a body to the head master for the order
of the school.  It was very rarely that a case had to go beyond the
monitors, whose authority was usually sufficient to enable them to deal
summarily with all ordinary offenders.

It was by no means the first time that Parson, who was reputed by almost
every one but himself and Telson to be an incorrigible scamp, had been
haled away to this awful tribunal, and he was half regretting that he
had not met his fate over the Caesar after all, and so escaped his
present position, when another monitor appeared down the passage and met
them.  It was Ashley.

"Hullo!  Coates," said he, "I wish you'd come to my study and help me
choose half a dozen trout-flies, there's a good fellow.  I've had a book
up from the town, and I don't know which are the best to use."

"All serene," said Coates, "I'll be there directly.  I'm just going to
take this youngster to the captain."

"Who is the captain?" said Ashley.  "Wyndham's gone, and no one's been
named yet that I know of.  I suppose it's Bloomfield."

"Eh?  I never thought of that.  No, I expect it'll be a schoolhouse
fellow.  Always is, isn't it.  Parson, you can go.  Bring me twelve
French verbs written out to my study before chapel to-morrow.  Come on,
Ashley."

And Parson departed, consoled in spirit, to announce to Telson and the
lower school generally that Willoughby was at present without a captain.



CHAPTER THREE.

THE VACANT CAPTAINCY.

Who was to be the new captain of Willoughby?  This was a question it had
occurred to only a very few to ask until Wyndham had finally quitted the
school.  Fellows had grown so used to the old order of things, which had
continued now for two years, that the possibility of their bowing to any
other chief than "Old Wynd" had scarcely crossed their minds.  But the
question being once asked, it became very interesting indeed.

The captains of Willoughby had been by long tradition what is known as
"all-round men."  There was something in the air of the place that
seemed specially favourable to the development of muscle and classical
proficiency at the same time, and the consequence was that the last
three heads of the school had combined in one person the senior classic
and the captains of the clubs.  Wyndham had been the best of these;
indeed he was as much ahead of his fellows in the classical school as he
was in the cricket-field and on the river, which was saying not a
little.  His predecessors had both also been head boys in classics; and
although neither of them actually the best men of their time in
athletics, they had been sufficiently near the best to entitle them to
the place of honour, which made the Willoughby captain supreme, not only
in school, but out of it.  So that in the memory of the present
"generation"--a school generation being reckoned as five years--the
Willoughby captain had always been cock of the school in every sense in
which such a distinction was possible.

But now all of a sudden the school woke up to the fact that this
delightful state of things was not everlasting.  Wyndham had left and
his mantle had fallen from him in two pieces.

The new head classic was Riddell, a comparatively unknown boy in the
school, who had come there a couple of years ago from a private school,
and about whom the most that was known was that he was physically weak
and timid, rarely taking part in any athletic exercises, having very few
chums, interfering very little with anybody else, and reputed "pi."--as
the more irreverent among the Willoughbites were wont to stigmatise any
fellow who made a profession of goodness.  Such was the boy on whom,
according to strict rule, the captaincy of Willoughby would devolve, and
it need hardly be said that the discovery spread consternation wherever
it travelled.

Among the seniors the idea was hardly taken seriously.

"The doctor would never be so ridiculous," said Ashley to Coates, as
they talked the matter over in the study of the former.  "We might as
well shut up the school."

"The worst of it is, I don't see how he can help it," replied Coates.

"Help it!  Of course he can help it if he likes.  There's no written law
that head classics are to be captains, if they can't hold a bat or run a
hundred yards, is there?"

"I don't suppose there is.  But who else is there?"

"Why, Bloomfield, of course.  He's just the fellow for it, and the
fellows all look up to him."

"But Bloomfield's low down in the sixth," said Coates.

"What's that to do with it?  Felton was a muff at rowing, but he was
made captain of the boats all the same while he was cock of the school."

At this point another monitor entered.

"Ah, Tipper," said Ashley, "what do you think Coates here is saying?  He
says Riddell is to be the new captain."

Tipper burst into a loud laugh.

"That would be a joke!  Think of Riddell stroking the school eight at
Henley, eh! or kicking off for us against Rockshire!  I suppose Coates
thinks because Riddell's a schoolhouse boy he's bound to be the man.
Never fear.  You'll see Parrett's come to the front at last, my boy!"

"Why, are _you_ to be the new captain?" asked Coates, with a slight
sneer.

Tipper was not pleased with this little piece of sarcasm.  He was a good
cricketer and a fine runner, but in school everybody knew him to be as
poor a scholar as a fellow could be to be in the sixth at all.

"I dare say even I would be as good as any schoolhouse fellow you could
pick out," said he.  "But if you want to know, Bloomfield's the man."

"Just what I was saying," said Ashley.  "But Coates says he's not far
enough up in the school."

"All bosh," said Tipper.  "What difference does it make if a fellow's
first or twentieth in the school, as long as he's cock of everything
outside!  I don't see how the doctor can hesitate a moment between the
two."

This was the conclusion come to at almost all the conclaves which met
together during the day to discuss the burning question.  It was the
conclusion moreover to which Bloomfield himself came as he talked the
matter over with a few of his friends after third school.

"You see," said he, "it's not that I care about the thing for its own
sake.  It would be a precious grind, I know, to have to be responsible
for everything that goes on, and to have to lick all the kids that want
a hiding.  But for all that, I'd sooner do it than let the school run
down."

"What I hope," said some one, "is that even if Paddy doesn't see it
himself, Riddell will, and will have the sense to back out of it.  I
fancy he wouldn't be sorry."

"Not he," said Bloomfield.  "I heard him say once he pitied Wyndham all
the bother he had, especially when he was wanting to stew for the
exams."

"Has any one seen Riddell lately?" asked Game.  "It wouldn't be a bad
thing for some of us to see him, and put it to him, that the school
would go to the dogs to a dead certainty if he was captain."

"Rather a blunt way of putting it," said Porter, laughing.  "I'd break
it to him rather more gently than that."

"Well, you know what I mean," replied Game, who was of the downright
order.

"You see," said Bloomfield, who, despite his protestations, was
evidently not displeased at the notion of his possible honours, "I don't
profess to be much of a swell in school; but--I don't know--I fancy I
could keep order rather better than he could.  The fellows know me."

"They ought to, if they don't," said Wibberly, who was a toady.

"Fancy Riddell having to lick a junior," said Game.  "Why he'd faint at
the very idea."

"Probably take him off to his study and have a prayer-meeting with
Fairbairn and a few more of that lot upon the top of him," said Gilks, a
schoolhouse monitor, and not a nice-looking fellow.

"I guess I'd sooner get a hiding from old Bloomfield than that," laughed
Wibberly.

"I hope," said Game, "snivelling's not going to be the order of the day.
I can't stand it."

"I don't think you've any right to call Riddell a sniveller," said
Porter.  "He may be a muff at sports, but I don't fancy he's a sneak.
And I don't see that it's against him, either, if he does go in for
being what he professes to be."

"Hear! hear!--quite a sermon from Porter," cried Wibberly.

"Porter's right," said Bloomfield.  "No one says it was against him.
All I say is that I don't expect the fellows will mind him as much as
they would a fellow who--well, who's better known, you know."

"Rather," said Game, "I know it would seem precious rum being a monitor
under him."

"Well," said Bloomfield, "I suppose it will be settled soon.  Meanwhile,
Game, what do you say to another grind in the tub?  You didn't half work
this morning, you beggar."

Game groaned resignedly, and said "All right;" and hue and cry was
forthwith made for Master Parson's services at the helm.

But Master Parson, as it happened, was not to be found.  He was neither
in the school nor in his house, and a search through the grounds failed
to unearth him.  He had not been seen since his escape from the
monitorial fangs after morning school.  The natural thing, of course, on
not finding him at home in his own quarters, was to look for him in
Telson's.  But he was not there, nor, strange to say, was Telson
himself.  And, what was still more odd, when search came to be made,
Bosher, another fag of Parrett's house, was missing, and so was Lawkins,
and Pringle, and King, and Wakefield, and one or two others of the same
glorious company.  After a fruitless search, the oarsmen had finally to
go down to the river without a fag at all, and impound the boat-boy to
steer for them.

The fact was, Parson's miraculous release from the hands of the law that
morning, and the reason which led to it, had suggested both to himself
and the faithful Telson that the present was rather a rare opportunity
for them in the annals of Willoughby.  If there was no captain, there
was no one to give them a licking (for the worst an ordinary monitor
could do was to give an imposition), and that being so, it would surely
be a waste of precious opportunity if they failed to signalise the event
by some little celebration.  And, as it happened, there was a little
celebration which badly wanted celebrating, and for which only a chance
like the present could have been considered favourable.  In other words,
there was a rather long score which the juniors of Parrett's were
anxious to settle up with the juniors of Welch's.  The debt was of long
standing, having begun as far back as the middle of the Lent term, when
the Welchers had played upon some of Parrett's with a hose from behind
their own door, and culminating in the unprovoked outrage upon the
luckless Parson on the river that very morning.

Now if there was one thing more than another the young Parretts prided
themselves in, it was their punctuality in matters of business; and it
had troubled them sorely that circumstances over which they had no
control (in other words, the fear of Wyndham) should have prevented
their settling scores with the Welchers at an earlier date.

Now, however, an opportunity was come, and, like all honest men, they
determined at once to avail themselves of it.

So the reason why Bloomfield and Game could find no fags in Parrett's
house to steer for them was because all the fags of Parrett's house,
aided by Telson of the schoolhouse, were at that moment paying a
business call at Welch's, and having on the whole rather a lively time
of it.

The juniors of Welch's were, take them altogether, a rather more rowdy
lot than the juniors of either of the two other houses, or, indeed, than
those of both the other houses put together.  Somehow Welch's was always
the rowdy house of Willoughby.  The honours of the school, whether in
class or in field, always seemed to go in any direction but their own,
and as, for five or six years at any rate, they had been unable to claim
any one distinguished Willoughbite as a member of their house, they had
come to regard themselves somewhat in the light of Ishmaelites.
Everybody's hand seemed to be against them, and they therefore didn't
see why their hand shouldn't be against every one.

It was this feeling which had prompted the assaults of which the
youthful Parretts had come to complain, and which the Welchers
distributed as impartially as possible among all their fellow
Willoughbites.

The fact was, Welch's was a bad house.  The fellows there rarely made
common cause for any lawful purpose, certainly never for the credit of
the school.  They were split up into cliques and sets of all sorts, and
the rising generation among them were left to grow up pretty much as
they liked.

On the afternoon in question an entertainment on a small scale was going
on in the study jointly occupied by Cusack and Pilbury.  Captain Cusack,
R.N., when he had parted from his dutiful son the night before, had put
five shillings into his hand as a pleasant memento of his visit; and
Master Cusack, directly after second school that morning, had skulked
down into Shellport with his hat-box, and returned in due time with the
same receptacle packed almost to bursting with dough-nuts, herrings,
peppermint-rock, and sherbet.  With these dainties to recommend him (and
his possession of them soon got wind) it need hardly be said he became
all of a sudden the most popular youth in Welch's.  Fellows who would
have liked to kick him yesterday now found themselves loving him like
their own brother, and the enthusiasm felt for him grew to such a pitch
that it really seemed as if not only his hat-box, but he himself, was in
danger.  However, by a little judicious manoeuvring he got safe into his
study, and, after a hasty consultation with Pil, decided to ask Curtis,
Philpot, Morrison, and Morgan, their four most intimate friends, to do
them the pleasure of joining in a small "blow-out" after third school.
These four worthies, who, by a most curious coincidence, happened to be
loafing outside Cusack's study-door at the very moment when Pilbury
started off to find them, had much pleasure in accepting their friend's
kind invitation; and the rest, finding themselves out of it, yapped off
disconsolately, agreeing inwardly that Cusack was the stingiest beast in
all Willoughby.

If punctuality is a test of politeness, Curtis, Morgan, Philpot, and
Morrison were that afternoon four of the politest young gentlemen in the
land; for they were all inside Cusack's study almost before the bell
dismissing third school had ceased to sound.

"Jolly brickish of you, old man," said Morrison, complacently regarding
the unpacking of the magic hat-box.  "I've not seen a dough-nut for
years."

"I got these at a new shop," said Cusack, trying to rescue some of the
sherbet which had fallen in among the herrings.  "Gormon never has
anything but red-currant jam in his.  These are greengage."

"How jolly prime!" was the delighted exclamation.

"Three-halfpence each, though," said Cusack, laying the herrings out in
a row on the table.  "I say, I wish we'd got some forks or something to
toast these with."

"Wouldn't the slate do to stick them on?" suggested Curtis.

"Might do, only Grange wrote out a lot of Euclid questions on it, and
I've got to show them to him answered to-morrow, and I'd get in an awful
row if it was rubbed out."

"Rather a bore.  I tell you what, though," exclaimed Philpot, struck
with the brilliant idea, "there's the pan in the chemistry-room they mix
up the sulphur and phosphorus and that sort of thing in.  I'll cut and
get that.  It's just the thing."

"All serene," said Cusack; "better give it a rub over in case it blows
up, you know."

Philpot said "All right," and went, leaving the others to poke up the
fire and get all ready for the reception of the pan.

He was a long while about it, certainly, considering that the chemistry-
room was only just at the end of the passage.

"I wonder what he's up to?" said Pilbury, when after about three minutes
he did not return.

"I wish he'd hurry up," said Curtis, whose special attraction was
towards the dough-nuts, which of course could not come on till after the
herrings.

"I wonder if he's larking about with some of the chemicals.  I never
knew such a fellow as he is for smells and blow-ups--"

"I'll blow him up if he's not sharp," said Cusack, losing patience and
looking mournfully at the row of herrings on the table.

"Let's begin without him," said Pilbury.

"So we would if we had anything to do them on."

"I'll go and see if I can get a fork or two," said Morrison.

"Thanks, and wake up Philpot while you're out."

Morrison went, and the others kicked their heels impatiently and eyed
the good things hungrily as they waited.

Cusack tried toasting a herring on one of the small forks, but the heat
of the fire was too great for him to hold his hand at such close
quarters, and he gave it up in disgust.

What was the matter with everybody this afternoon?  Morrison was away
ages and did not return.

"Oh, bother it all!" exclaimed Cusack, whose patience was now fairly
exhausted, "if they don't choose to come I'm hung if they'll get
anything now.  I'll go and get the pan myself."

And off he went in high dudgeon, leaving his guests in charge of the
feast.

"If he can't get the pan or a toasting-fork," said Curtis,
disinterestedly, "wouldn't it be as well to have the dough-nuts now, and
leave the herrings till supper, eh, Pil?  Pity for them to get stale."

Pilbury said nothing, but broke off a little piece of the peppermint-
rock in a meditative manner, and drummed his feet on the floor.

"Upon my word," he broke out after a good three minutes' waiting, "that
blessed pan must be jolly heavy.  There's three of them sticking to it
now!"

"Wait a bit, I hear him coming," said Curtis, going to the door.  He
stepped out into the passage, Morgan following him.

Pilbury heard a sudden scuffling outside, and a sound of what did not
seem like Welchers' voices.  He hurried to the door to ascertain the
cause, and as he did so he found himself caught roughly by the arm and
slung violently against the opposite wall, while at the same moment
Telson, Parson, Bosher, and half a dozen Parrett juniors rushed past him
into the empty study, slamming and locking and barricading the door
behind them!

It was all so quickly done that the luckless Welchers could hardly
believe their own senses.  But when they heard the distant voice of
Philpot shouting that he was locked up in the chemistry-room, and of
Morrison complaining that he couldn't get out of his own study, and of
Cusack demanding to be released from the lavatory; and when their
combined assault on the door produced nothing but defiant laughter
mingled with the merry frizzing of the herrings before the fire, they
knew it was no dream but a hideous fact.  They had presence of mind
enough to release their incarcerated comrades and attempt another
assault in force on the door.  But it came to nothing.  In vain they
shouted, threatened, entreated, kicked.  They only received facetious
answers from inside, which aggravated their misery.

"Go it, you fellows," shouted one voice, very like Parson's, only the
mouth was so full that it was hard to say for certain.  "Jolly good
dough-nuts these; have another, Bosher, you've only had four.  I say,
Cusack, where did you catch these prime herrings?  Best I've tasted
since I came here.  Afraid your slate's a little damaged; awfully sorry,
you ought to keep a toasting-fork--ha! ha!" and a chorus of laughter
greeted the sally.  Cusack groaned and fumed.

"You pack of young cads," he howled through the key-hole.  "Come out of
there, do you hear? you thieves you.  I'll warm you, Parson, when I get
hold of you."

"Just what we're doing to the bloaters," cried Telson.  There was a
pause.  Then Pilbury cried in tones of feigned warning, "Here comes the
doctor!  We'll see what he says."

"Won't do," shouted Parson from within.  "Won't wash, my boy.  Paddy's
down at Shellport.  Any more sherbet left, King?"

"I'll go and tell the captain, that's what I'll do," said Pilbury.

"Won't wash again," cried Parson.  "There's no captain to tell; I say,
we're leaving something for you, aren't we, you fellows?  There'll be
all the heads of the herrings and the greengage stones-- jolly blow-out
for you."

It was no use attempting further parley, and the irate Welchers were
compelled to lurk furiously outside the door while the feast proceeded,
and console themselves with the prospect of paying the enemy out when it
was all over.

But the skill which had accompanied the execution of the raid so far was
not likely to omit all precautions possible to make good a retreat.
While most of the party were making all the noise they could, and
succeeding with jest and gibe in keeping the attention of those outside,
the barricade against the door had been quietly removed, and decks
cleared for the sortie.

"Now then, you fellows," cried Parson to his men, in a voice which those
outside were intended to hear, "make yourselves comfortable.  Here's a
stunning lot of peppermint-rock here, pass it round.  Needn't go home
for half an hour at least!"

The watchers outside groaned.  There was no help at hand; and for one of
them to go and seek it was only to increase the odds against them.  The
only thing was to wait patiently till the enemy did come out.  _Then_ it
would be their turn.  So they leaned up against the door and waited.
The revelry within became more and more boisterous, and the chances of a
speedy retreat more and more remote, when all of a sudden there was a
sharp click and the door swung back hard on its hinges, precipitating
Cusack, Pilbury, and Curtis backwards into the room in among the very
feet of the besieged as, in a compact body, they rushed out.  Morrison,
Philpot, and Morgan did what little they could to oppose them but they
were simply run over and swept aside by the wily troop of Parretts, who
with shouts of derisive triumph gained the staircase with unbroken
ranks, and gave their pursuers the parting gratification of watching
them slide down the banisters one by one, and then lounge off arm-in-
arm, sated and jubilant, to their own quarters.



CHAPTER FOUR.

THE NEW CAPTAIN'S INTRODUCTION.

Of course a row was made, or attempted to be made, about the daring
exploit of the fags of Parrett's House narrated in the last chapter.
The matter was duly reported to the head monitor of Welch's by the
injured parties.  But the result only proved how very cunning the
offenders had been in choosing this particular time for the execution of
their raid.

The head of Welch's reported the matter to Bloomfield, as the head of
Parrett's.  But Bloomfield, who had plenty to do to punish offences
committed in his own House, replied that the head of Welch's had better
mention it to the captain of the school.  _He_ couldn't do anything.
The head of Welch's pointed out that there was no captain of the school
at present.  What was he to do?

Bloomfield suggested that he had better "find out," and there the matter
ended.  Wherever the head Welcher took his complaint he got the same
answer; and it became perfectly clear that as long as Willoughby was
without a captain, law and order was at a discount.

However, such a state of things was not destined long to last.  A notice
went round from the doctor to the monitors the next day asking them to
assemble directly after chapel the following morning in the library.
Every one knew what this meant; and when later on it was rumoured that
Riddell had gone to the doctor's that evening to tea, it became pretty
evident in which direction things were going.

"Tea at the doctor's" was always regarded as rather a terrible ordeal by
those who occasionally came in for the honour.  Some would infinitely
have preferred a licking in the library, and others would have felt
decidedly more comfortable in the dock of a police-court.  Even the
oldest boys, whose conduct was exemplary, and whose conscience had as
little to make it uneasy in the head master's presence as in the
presence of the youngest fag in Willoughby, were always glad when the
ceremony was over.

The reason of all this was not in the doctor.  Dr Patrick was one of
the kindest and pleasantest of men.  He could not, perhaps, throw off
the Dominie altogether on such occasions, but he always tried hard, and
if there had been no one more formidable than "Paddy" to deal with the
meal would have been comparatively pleasant and unalarming.

But there was a Mrs Patrick and a Mrs Patrick's sister, and before
these awful personages the boldest Willoughbite quailed and trembled.
From the moment the unhappy guest entered the parlour these two (who
were always there) fastened their eyes on him and withered him.  They
spoke ceremoniously in the language in which the grand old ladies used
to speak in the old story-books.  If he chanced to speak, they sat erect
in their chairs listening to him with all their ears, looking at him
with all their eyes, freezing him with all their faintest of smiles.  No
one could sit there under their inspection without feeling that every
word and look and gesture was being observed, probably with a view to
recording it in a letter home; and the idea of being at one's ease with
them in the room was about as preposterous as the idea of sleeping
comfortably on a wasp's nest!

And yet, if truth were known, these good females meant well.  They had
their own ideas of what boys should be (neither having any of their
own), and fondly imagined that during these occasional ceremonies in the
doctor's parlour they were rendering valuable assistance in the "dear
boy's" education by giving him some idea of the manners and charms of
polite society!

It was in such genial company that Riddell, the head classic of
Willoughby, was invited to bask for a short time on the evening of the
day before the appointment of the new captain.  He had been there once
before when his father and mother had come over to visit him.  And even
with their presence as a set-off, the evening had been one of the most
awful experiences of his life.  But now that he was to go all alone to
partake of state tea with those two, this shy awkward boy felt about as
cheerful as if he had been walking helplessly into a lion's den.

"Well, Riddell," said the doctor, pleasantly, as after long hesitation
the guest at last ventured to arrive, "how are you?  My dear, this is
Riddell, whom I believe you have seen before.  Miss Stringer too I think
you met."

Riddell coloured deeply and shivered inwardly as he advanced first to
one lady then to the other and solemnly shook hands.

"I trust your parents are in good health, Mr Riddell," said Mrs
Patrick in her most precise tones.

"Very well indeed, thank you," replied Riddell; "that is," he added,
correcting himself suddenly, "my mother is very poorly, thank you."

"I regret to hear you say so," said Mrs Patrick, transfixing the
unhappy youth with her eyes.  "I trust her indisposition is not of a
serious character."

"I hope she will, thank you, ma'am," replied Riddell, who somehow
fancied his hostess had said, or had been going to say, she hoped his
mother would soon recover.

"Er, I beg your pardon?" said Mrs Patrick, leaning slightly forward and
inclining her head a little on one side.

"I mean, I beg your pardon," said Riddell, suddenly perceiving his
mistake and losing his head at the same time, "I mean, quite so, thank
you."

"You mean," interposed Miss Stringer at this point, in a voice a note
deeper than her sister's, "that your mother's indisposition _is_ of a
serious character?"

"Oh no, not at all, I'm sure," ejaculated the hapless Riddell.

"I am glad to hear you say so, very," said Miss Stringer.

"Very," said Mrs Patrick.

At this point Riddell had serious thoughts of bolting altogether, and
might have done so had not the servant just then created a diversion by
bringing in the kettle.

"Sit down, Riddell," said the doctor, "and make yourself at home.  What
are the prospects for the regatta this year?  Is the schoolhouse boat to
win?"

"I'm sorry I can't say," replied Riddell.  "I believe Parrett's is the
favourite."

"Mr Riddell means Mr Parrett's, I presume?" asked Mrs Patrick in her
sweetest tones, looking hard at the speaker, and emphasising the "Mr"

"I beg your pardon," he said, "I'm sorry."

"We shall miss Wyndham," said the doctor.

"Yes, thank you," replied Riddell, who at that moment was dodging
vaguely in front of Miss Stringer as she stood solemnly waiting to get
past him to the tea-table.

It was a relief when tea was at last ready, and when some other
occupation was possible than that of looking at and being looked at by
these two ladies.

"You're not very fond of athletics, Riddell?" asked the doctor.

"No, sir," answered Riddell, steadily avoiding the eyes of the females.

"I often think you'd be better if you took more exercise," said the
doctor.

"Judging by Mr Riddell's looks," said Mrs Patrick, "it would certainly
seem as if he hardly did himself justice physically."

This enigmatical sentence, which might have been a compliment or might
have been a rebuke or might have meant neither, Riddell found himself
quite unable to reply to appropriately, and therefore, like a sensible
man, took a drink of tea instead.  It was the first dawn of reviving
presence of mind.

"Apart from your own health altogether," continued the doctor, "I fancy
your position with the other boys would be better if you entered rather
more into their sports."

"I often feel that, sir," said Riddell, with a touch of seriousness in
his tones, "and I wish I could do it."

"I hope that there is no consideration as to health which debars you
from this very desirable exercise, Mr Riddell," said Mrs Patrick.  "I
beg your pardon," said Riddell, who did not quite take it in.  Mrs
Patrick never liked being asked to repeat her speeches.  She flattered
herself they were lucid enough to need no second delivery.  She
therefore repeated her remark slowly and in precisely the same words and
tone--

"I hope that there is no consideration as to health which debars you
from this very desirable exercise, Mr Riddell?"

Riddell took half a moment to consider, and then replied, triumphantly,
"I'm quite well, thank you, ma'am."

"I am pleased to hear that," said Mrs Patrick, rather icily, for this
last observation had seemed to her a little rude.  "Very," chimed in
Miss Stringer.

After this there was a silence, which Riddell devoutly hoped might last
till it was time to go.  Had the ladies not been there he would have
liked very much to speak to the doctor about school matters, and the
doctor, but for the same cause, would have wished to talk to his head
boy.  But it was evident this tea-table was not the place for such
conversation.

"I hear," said the doctor, after the pause had continued some time,
addressing his sister-in-law, "there is likely to be an election in
Shellport before long; Sir Abraham is retiring."

"Indeed, you surprise me," said Miss Stringer.  "It is unexpected," said
the doctor, "but it is thought there will be a sharp contest for the
seat."

"And are you a Liberal or a Conservative, Mr Riddell?" asked Mrs
Patrick, thinking it time that unfortunate youth was again tempted into
the conversation.

"A Liberal, ma'am," replied Riddell.  "Oh! boys are generally
Conservatives, are they not?"  She asked this question in a tone as if
she expected him to try to deceive her in his answer.  However, he
evaded it by replying bashfully, "I hope not."

"And pray," said Miss Stringer, putting down her cup, and turning full
on her victim, "will you favour us with your reasons for such a hope,
Mr Riddell?"

Poor Riddell! he little thought what he had let himself in for.  If
there was one subject the two ladies were rabid on it was politics.
They proceeded to pounce upon, devour, and annihilate the unlucky head
classic without mercy.  They made him contradict himself twice or thrice
in every sentence; they proved to him clearly that he knew nothing at
all of what he was talking about, and generally gave him to understand
that he was an impertinent, conceited puppy for presuming to have an
opinion of his own on such matters!

Riddell came out of the ordeal very much as a duck comes out of the
hands of the poulterer.  Luckily, by the time the discussion was over it
was time for him to go.  He certainly could not have held out much
longer.  As it was, he was good for nothing after it, and went to bed
early that night with a very bad headache.

Before he left, however, the doctor had accompanied him into the hall,
and said, "There are a few things, Riddell, I want to speak to you
about.  Will you come to my study a quarter of an hour before morning
chapel to-morrow?"

Had the invitation been to breakfast in that horrible parlour Riddell
would flatly have declined it.  As it was he cheerfully accepted it, and
only wished the doctor had thought of it before, and spared him the
misery of that evening with the two Willoughby griffins!

He could hardly help guessing what it was the doctor had to say to him,
or why it was he had been asked to tea that evening.  And he felt very
dejected as he thought about it.  Like most of the other Willoughbites,
the idea of a new captain having to be appointed had never occurred to
him till Wyndham had finally left the school.  And when it did occur,
and when moreover it began to dawn upon him that he himself was the
probable successor, horror filled his mind.  He couldn't do it.  He was
not cut out for it.  He would sooner leave Willoughby altogether.  The
boys either knew nothing about him, or they laughed at him for his
clumsiness, or they suspected him as a coward, or they despised him as a
prig.  He had wit enough to know what Willoughby thought of him, and
that being so, how could he ever be its captain?

"I would much rather you named some one else," said he to the doctor at
their interview next morning.  "I know quite well I couldn't get on."

"You have not tried yet," said the doctor.

"But I've not the strength, and the boys don't like me," pleaded
Riddell.

"You must make them like you, Riddell," said the doctor.

"How can I?  They will dislike me all the more if I am made captain.  I
have no influence with them, indeed I have not."

"How do you know?" said the doctor again.  "Have you tried yet?"

"I could never do what Wyndham did.  He was such a splendid captain."

"Why?" asked the doctor.

"I suppose because he was a splendid athlete, and threw himself into all
their pursuits, and--and set a good example himself."

"I think you are partly right and partly wrong," said the doctor.
"There are several fine athletes in Willoughby who would make poor
captains; and as for throwing oneself into school pursuits and setting a
good example, I don't think either is beyond your reach."

Riddell felt very uncomfortable.  He began to feel that after all he
might be shirking a duty he ought to undertake.  But he made one more
effort.

"There are so many others would do it better, sir, whom the boys look up
to already," he said.  "Bloomfield, for instance, or--"

The doctor held up his hand.

"We will not go into that, Riddell," he said.  "You must not suppose I
and others have not considered the good of Willoughby in this matter.
It remains for you to consider it also.  As you grow older you will
constantly find duties confronting you which may be sorely against your
inclination, but which as an honest man you will know are not to be
shirked.  You have a chance of beginning now.  I don't pretend to say
you will find it easy or pleasant work, or that you are likely to
succeed, at first at any rate, as well as others have done.  But unless
I am mistaken you will not give in on that account.  Of course you will
need to exert yourself.  You know what boys look for in a captain; it's
not mere muscle, or agility.  Get them by all means if you can; but what
will be worth far more than these will be sympathy.  If they discover
you are one with them, and that in your efforts to keep order you have
the welfare of the school chiefly at heart, they will come out, depend
upon it, and meet you half-way.  It's worth trying, Riddell."

Riddell said nothing, but his face was rather more hopeful as he looked
up at the doctor.

"Come," said the latter, "there's the bell for chapel.  It's time we
went in."

Riddell entered chapel that morning in a strangely conflicting frame of
mind.  The hope was still in his face, but the misgivings were still in
his heart, and the whole prospect before him seemed to be a dream.

As the slight shy boy walked slowly up the floor to his place among the
Sixth, the boys on either side eyed him curiously and eagerly, and a
half-titter, half-sneer greeted his appearance.

Some regarded him with a disfavour which amounted to positive dislike,
others with disdain and even contempt, and others thought of Wyndham and
wondered what Willoughby was coming to.  Even among the Sixth many an
unfriendly glance was darted at him as he took his seat, and many a
whispered foreboding passed from boy to boy.  Only a few watched him
with looks of sympathy, and of these scarcely one was hopeful.

Happily for Riddell, he could not see half of all this; and when in a
moment the doctor entered and prayers began, he saw none of it.  For he
was one of a few at Willoughby to whom this early-morning service was
something more than a mere routine, and who felt, especially at times
like this, that in those beautiful familiar words was to be found the
best of all preparations for the day's duties.

Telson, as he stood down by the door, with his hands in his pockets,
beside his friend Parson, was void of all such reflections.  What was
chiefly occupying his lordly mind at that moment was the discovery
suddenly made, that if Riddell was the new captain, he of course would
be captain's fag.  And he was not quite sure whether to be pleased or
the reverse at his new dignity.

"You see," said he to his ally, in a whisper, "it's good larks marking
the fellows off every morning as they come into chapel, but then, don't
you twig that means I've got to be here the moment the bell begins
ringing? and that's no joke."

"No, unless you got leave to ring the bell, too," said Parson.  "Then of
course they couldn't troop in till you were there.  I'd come down and
help with the bell, you know."

"Wouldn't do, I fancy," said Telson.  "Then, of course, it's swell
enough work to have to go about and tell the monitors what they've got
to do, but I'm not so sure if it's a good thing to mix altogether with
monitors--likely to spoil a chap, eh?"

"Rather," said Parson.  "Look out, Porter's looking."

Whereupon this brief but edifying dialogue broke off for the present.

The monitors duly assembled in the doctor's library after chapel.  They
all of them knew what was coming, and their general attitude did not
seem promising for the new _regime_.  Each one possibly fancied he had
the interests of Willoughby at heart, and all but one or two felt
convinced that in putting Riddell into the position of captain the
doctor was committing a serious mistake.  Every one could have given
good reasons for thinking so, and would have asserted that they had no
personal ill-feeling towards the new captain, but for the sake of the
school they were sure he was not the fit person.  Whether each one felt
equally sure that he himself would have filled the post better is a
question it is not necessary to ask here.

The doctor was brief and to the point.

"I dare say you know why I have called you together," he said.
"Wyndham--whom every one here liked and respected, and who did a great
deal for the school"--("Hear, hear," from one or two voices)--"has left,
and we shall all miss him.  The captain of the school has always for a
long time past been the head classical boy.  It is not a law of the
Medes and Persians that it should be so, and if there seemed any special
reason why the rule should be broken through there is nothing to prevent
that being done."

At this point one or two breathed rather more freely and the attention
generally was intensified.  After all, this seemed like the preface to a
more favourable announcement.  But those who thought so found their
mistake when the doctor proceeded.

"In the present case there is no such reason, and Riddell here is fully
aware of the duties expected of him, and is prepared to perform them.  I
look to you to support him, and am confident if all work heartily
together no one need be afraid for the continued success of Willoughby."

The doctor ended his speech amid the silence of his audience, which was
not broken as he turned and left the room.  At the same moment, to the
relief of no one more than of Riddell, the bell sounded for breakfast
and the assembly forthwith broke up.



CHAPTER FIVE.

THE NEW CAPTAIN IS DISCUSSED ON LAND AND WATER.

The doctor's announcement was not long in taking effect.  As soon as
third school was over that afternoon the monitors assembled in the Sixth
Form room to discuss the situation.  Fortunately for Riddell's peace of
mind, he was not present; but nearly all the others, whether friendly or
otherwise, were there.

Game, with his usual downrightness, opened the ball.

"Well, you fellows," said he, "what are you going to do?"

"Let's have a game of leapfrog while the fags aren't looking," said
Crossfield, a schoolhouse monitor and a wag in a small way.

"It's all very well for you to fool about," said Game, ill-temperedly.
"You schoolhouse fellows think, as long as you get well looked after,
Willoughby may go to the dogs."

"What do you mean?" said Fairbairn.  "I don't think so."

"I suppose you'd like to make out that Riddell is made captain because
he's the best man for the place, and not because the doctor always
favours the schoolhouse," snarled Wibberly.

"He's made captain because he's head classic," replied Fairbairn; "it
has nothing to do with his being a schoolhouse fellow."

"All very well," said Tucker, of Welch's, "but it's a precious odd
thing, all the same, that the captain is always picked out of the
schoolhouse."

"And it's a precious odd thing too," chimed in Crossfield, "that a head
classic was never to be got out of Welch's for love or money!"

This turned the laugh against the unlucky Tucker, who was notoriously a
long way off being head classic.

"What I say is," said Game, "we want an all-round man for captain--a
fellow like Bloomfield here, who's well up in the Sixth, and far away
the best fellow in the eleven and the boats.  Besides, he doesn't shut
himself up like Riddell, and give himself airs.  I can't see why the
doctor didn't name him.  The only thing against him seems to be that
he's not a schoolhouse gentleman."

"That's the best thing about him in my opinion," said Ashley.

If Game and his friends had determined to do their best to gain friends
for the new captain, this constant bringing-up of the rivalry between
Parrett's house and the schoolhouse was the very way to do it.  Many of
the schoolhouse monitors had felt as sore as anybody about the
appointments, but this sort of talk inclined not a few of them to take
Riddell's side.

"I don't want any row made on my account," said Bloomfield.  "If Paddy
thinks Riddell's the best man, we have no choice in the matter."

"Haven't we, though!" said Wibberly.  "We aren't going to have a fellow
put over our heads against our will--at any rate, not without having a
word in the matter."

"What can you do?" asked Coates.

"We can resign, I suppose?" said Tucker.

"Oh, yes!" said Crossfield.  "And suppose Paddy took you at your word,
my boy?  Sad thing for Welch's that would be!"

"I don't know why you choose to make a beast of yourself whenever I
speak," said Tucker, angrily; "I've as much right--"

"Shut up, Tucker, for goodness' sake!" said Bloomfield; "don't begin by
quarrelling."

"Well, then, what does he want to cheek me for?" demanded Tucker.  "He's
a stuck-up schoolhouse prig, that's what he is!"

"And if I only had the flow of costermonger's talk which some people
possess--" began Crossfield.

"Are you going to shut up or not?" demanded Bloomfield.

"Hullo! you aren't captain yet, old man!" replied the irrepressible
Crossfield; "but if you want to know, I am going to shut up now till I
want to speak again."

"We might get up a petition to the doctor, anyhow," suggested Game,
returning to the subject; "he'd have to take notice of that."

"What will you say in the petition?" asked Porter.

"Oh! easy enough that.  Say we don't consider Riddell fit to be captain,
and we'd sooner have some one else."

"Better say we'd sooner have Bloomfield at once," said Wibberly.

"No; please don't mention my name," said Bloomfield.

"Wouldn't the best thing be to send Riddell back with a label,
`Declined, with thanks,' pinned on his coat-tail?" suggested Crossfield.

"Yes; and add, `Try again, Paddy,'" said Coates, laughing.

"And just mention no schoolhouse snobs are wanted," said Tucker.

"And suggest, mildly, that a nice, clever, amiable, high-principled
Welcher like Tom Tucker would be acceptable," added Crossfield.

"Look here," said Tucker, very red in the face, advancing towards his
tormentor, "I've stood your impudence long enough, you cad, and I won't
stand any more."

"Sit down, then," replied Crossfield, cheerfully, "plenty of forms."

"Look here, you fellows," said Bloomfield again, "for goodness' sake
shut up.  Have it out afterwards if you like, but don't fight here."

"I don't mind where I have it out," growled Tucker, "but I'll teach him
to cheek me, see if I don't."

So saying, much to the relief of every one, he turned on his heel and
left the room.

After this the discussion again got round to Riddell, and the question
of a petition was revived.

"It would be quite easy to draw something up that would say what we want
to say and not give offence to any one," said Ashley.

"But what do you want to say?" asked Fairbairn.  "If you want to tell
the doctor he's wrong, and that we are the people to set him right, I
don't see how you can help offending him."

"That's not what we want to say at all," said Game.  "We want to say
that the captain of Willoughby has always been a fellow who was good all
round, and we think the new captain ought to be of the same sort for the
sake of the school."

"Hear, hear," said one or two of Parrett's house; "what could be better
than that?"

"Well," said Porter, "I don't see much difference between saying that
and telling the doctor he doesn't know what he's about."

"Of course _you_ say so--that's your schoolhouse prejudice," replied
Wibberly.

"It's nothing of the sort," said Fairbairn, warmly; "you know that as
well as I do, Wibberly."

"I know it is," retorted Wibberly; "you'd put up with anybody as long as
he wasn't a Parrett fellow."

And so the wrangle went on; and at the end of it the company was as near
agreeing as they had been at the beginning.

Finally one or two of the schoolhouse fellows, such as Fairbairn,
Coates, and Porter, withdrew, and the Parrett faction, having it then
pretty much their own way, drew up the following petition:

"We the undersigned monitors respectfully hope you will reconsider your
decision as to the New Captain.  The captain has hitherto always been an
`all-round man,' and we think it would be best for the discipline of the
school to have a fellow of the same sort now.  We wish to say nothing
against Riddell except that we do not think he is the best fellow for
the position.  We hope you will excuse us for stating our opinion."

To this extraordinary document all the monitors of Parrett's and Welch's
houses present put their names, as well as Gilks and one or two others
of the schoolhouse, and after deciding not to present it till next day,
by which time it was hoped other signatures might be procured, the
august assembly broke up.

The reign of Riddell had not, to say the least of it, opened
auspiciously as far as his fellow-monitors were concerned.  And outside
that body, in Willoughby at large, things did not look much more
promising.

The feeling in Parrett's house was of course one of unmingled wrath and
mutiny.  When once the heads of the house were known to have declared so
unmistakably against the new captain, it was not much to be wondered at
that the rank and file followed their lead in a still more demonstrative
manner.

It happened that Parson and his friends, Telson (who, though a
schoolhouse boy, seemed to live most of his life in Parrett's), King,
Wakefield, and Lawkins, had planned a little expedition up the river
between third school and "call-over" that afternoon, and the present
state of affairs in the school formed a rather lively topic of
discussion for these worthies as they pulled the Parrett's "Noah's
Ark"--by which complimentary title the capacious boat devoted to the use
of the juniors of the house was known--lazily up on the tide towards
Balsham.

The river was pretty full, as usual at that time of day, and as one form
which the wrath of the youthful Parretts took was to insult, and if
opportunity arose, to run down the craft of either of the other houses,
the discussion on the condition of Willoughby was relieved by more than
one lively incident.

"Think of that chap being captain," said Parson, standing up on the back
seat, with the rudder-lines in his hands so as to command a good view of
the stream ahead.  "He couldn't row as well as old Bosher there."

As "old Bosher" was at that moment engaged in super-human efforts to
keep his balance with one hand, and extricate his oar, which had
feathered two feet under the surface of the water, with the other, this
illustration was particularly effective and picturesque.

"Oh, he's an awful cad," said Wakefield, who was rowing bow.  "He
reported me to Wyndham last term for letting off crackers in bed."

"What a beastly shame!" was the sympathising chorus.

"And you know--" added King.

But as Bosher fell rather violently backward into his lap at this
instant, and let his oar go altogether, what King was going to say did
not come out.

After a vast amount of manoeuvring, back-watering, shouting, and
reaching to recover the lost oar, the voyage proceeded.

They had not proceeded far when the racing-boat of their house, manned
by Bloomfield, Game, Tipper, and Ashley, and coached from the bank by
Mr Parrett himself, spun past them in fine style and at a great rate.
As became loyal Parretts, the juniors pulled into the bank to let the
four-oar pass, and, not content with this act of homage, they
volunteered a round of vehement applause into the bargain.

"Bravo!  Well rowed, our house!  Two to one on Parrett's!  Three cheers
for Bloomfield!  Three cheers for the captain!  Hooroo!"

With this gratifying salute the boat darted out of sight round the bend,
leaving the juniors once more to continue on their festive way.

"Isn't old Bloomfield a stunner?" said Lawkins.  "He's the sort of
fellow for captain!  Not that schoolhouse idiot, Riddell."

"Easy all there about the schoolhouse," shouted down Telson from his
place at stroke.  "I'll fight you if you say it again."

"Hurrah! let's land and have a mill!" cried King.  "I back you, Telson,
old man."

"Oh, I didn't mean to cheek you, Telson," said Lawkins, humbly.  "I'll
apologise, you know."

"Jolly good job," said Telson, grandly, "or I'd have licked you."

"All the same," said Lawkins, "old Bloomfield's--"

"Look out now!" suddenly broke in Parson, who had been gradually getting
excited where he stood; "there's the Welchers coming!  Pull hard, you
fellows, or they'll cut us out.  Now then!  Row, Bosher, can't you, you
old cow?  Yah! hoo!  Welchers ahoy!" he cried, raising his voice in
tones of derisive defiance.  "Yah! boo! herrings and dough-nuts, jolly
cowards, daren't wait for us!  Booh, funk-its!"

With such taunts the Hector of Parrett's endeavoured to incite the enemy
to battle.  And the enemy, if truth must be told, needed very little
persuasion, especially as the crew in question consisted of Cusack,
Pilbury, and the three other ill-starred victim of the raid of two days
ago.

They lay on their oars and waited for the foe to come up, Cusack
shouting meanwhile, "Who'd be afraid of a pack of thieves like you!  _I_
wouldn't!  I dare you to land and fight us!  Dare you to run into us!
Dare you to stand still till we lick you!  Dare you to do anything but
steal other fellows' grub!  Ye-ow!"

"Now, you fellows," cried Parson, "put it on."

A few strokes brought the two boats level, and then, as they lay side by
side at oar's distance, ensued a notable and tremendous splashing match,
which was kept up with terrific vigour on both sides, until not only was
every combatant splashed through, but the two boats themselves were
nearly swamped.

Then, after either side had insultingly claimed the victory, the boats
separated, and the dripping warriors parted with a final broadside.

"There you are, take that, and go and tell the captain!" shouted Parson.

"You wouldn't dare do it if Bloomfield was captain," retorted the
Welchers.  "We'll have him captain, then see how you'll smile!  Yah!
bah!"

And, amid terrific cat-calling on either side, the crews parted.

This last taunt was a sore one for the young Parretts.  It had never
occurred to them that Bloomfield, if he were captain, might perhaps
spoil their sport more than Riddell.  But it was only a passing
annoyance.  After all they were Parretts, and Bloomfield was their man,
whether he spoiled their sport or not.  Telson had no objection to this
sentiment as long as no one presumed "to cheek the schoolhouse" in
uttering it.  Whenever that was done he insisted on his unalterable
determination to fight the offender unless he swallowed his words, which
the offender usually did.

The tide was getting slack, and it was time for them to turn if they
were to be in for "call-over."  Just, however, as they were about to do
so, a shout behind attracted them, and they became aware of another
four-oared boat approaching with the schoolhouse flag in the prow.  It
came along at a fair pace, but with nothing like the style which had
marked the Parretts' boat.

The crew consisted of Fairbairn, Porter, Coates, and Gilks, with
Crossfield steering: the first time a complete schoolhouse crew had
appeared on the river this year.

The blood of the young Parretts was up, and the credit of their house
was in question.

"Put it on now," said Parson to his men, as the schoolhouse boat came
up.  "Show 'em what you can do!  Now then, slide into it!  Race 'em!"

And the young heroes laid into their work and made Noah's Ark forge
along at an unwonted pace.  Parson busily encouraged them, varying his
exhortations by occasional taunts addressed to the other boat.

"Now then," he shouted, "two to one on us.  Come on, you there, jolly
schoolhouse louts--"

"Parson, I'll fight you if you say it again," interposed Telson by way
of parenthesis.

"Oh, beg pardon, old man.  Pull away, you fellows!  Parretts for ever!
No Riddell for us!  Three cheers for Bloomfield!  You're gaining, you
fellows.  Oh, well pulled indeed our boat!"

The schoolhouse boat had slackened speed, and paddling gently alongside,
was taking careful note of these audacious youngsters, who, puffing and
plunging along, fully believed they were beating the picked four of the
rival house by their own prowess.

The big boys seemed amused on the whole, and good-humouredly kept up the
semblance of a race for about half a mile, taking care to give the
challenging crew a wide berth.

At last, after about ten minutes had been spent in this way, and when
the young champions were all, except Parson, fairly exhausted,
Crossfield took out his watch and said to his crew, winking as he did
so, "Time we turned, you fellows; it's five o'clock.  Easy all, pull bow
side! back water, stroke!"

And so saying, the schoolhouse boat suddenly turned round and started
off at a smart pace down stream, where it was soon out of reach of the
parting taunts and opprobrious noises which Parson, for the credit of
his house, continued to hurl at its crew till they were beyond earshot.

Then it suddenly began to occur to these elated young navigators that if
it had been time for the four-oar to turn three minutes ago it was
possibly time for them to turn also.

"What did he say the time was?" asked King.

"Five o'clock!" said Lawkins.

"Five o'clock! and call-over is at 5:20!  We can't do it in the time!"
exclaimed Parson, aghast.

"My eye, what a row there'll be," groaned Telson.  "I've been late for
call-over twice this week already, and I'm certain to get reported now!"

"So shall I be," said Bosher.

"It's all a vile dodge of those schoolhouse cads," exclaimed King.  "I
mean," said he (perceiving that Telson was about to make a remark), "of
those cads.  They did it on purpose to make us late.  I see it all now.
And then they'll report us.  Ugh! did you ever know such blackguards?"

The discovery was too late to be any good--that is, as far as the hope
of reaching Willoughby before call-over was concerned.  However, it
warned them the sooner they turned now the sooner they would get back at
all.  So they turned viciously and started homewards.

The rowers were all too tired and enraged to talk much, and the journey
down stream was silent and gloomy.  They heard, about a mile from home,
the school bell ringing for call-over, and groaned inwardly when
presently it ceased, and they knew their names were being called over
and not one of them there to answer.  Parson alone made any attempt to
keep up the drooping spirits of his crew.

"Never fear.  We'll pay them out, you see.  And if they do report us
we'll only get impots.  The beasts!  I wish we'd run into them and
drowned them all! so I do."

At this point the speaker became aware of an outrigger skiff rapidly
approaching them.  The rower of course had his back turned, and
evidently not expecting anything ahead, was steering himself "over his
toes," as the term is--that is by some landmark behind the boat.  Who he
was Parson could not make out, but he wore a light-blue ribbon on his
straw, and that was enough.  Light-blue was the schoolhouse colour.
Here was a chance of paying out of the enemy, anyhow!

So he ordered his men to "easy all" and allow the unconscious sculler to
come close up.  Then when he was within a few yards he started up, and
with a wild shout of, "Yah booh, cad!" gave the signal to his crew to
pull on, and brought his boat close alongside the skiff.  The rower,
startled by the sudden shout, turned quickly round.

Horror of horrors!  It was Mr Parrett himself!

There was no time to do anything.  At the instant he turned, his left
scull came into violent contact with the oars of the Noah's Ark, and was
jerked from his hand, and at the same time the light boat gave a violent
lurch over and capsized, sending her occupant headlong into the river!

The small boys, pale with fright and dazed by the suddenness of the
accident, sat for a moment unable to move or cry out.  Then by a sudden
wild impulse Parson sprang boldly into the water, followed in a second
or two first by Telson, then by Lawkins.  The other three held to the
oars and waited where they were.

The tide was running down at a good pace, and the river was fairly wide,
but there was not much danger to any of the immersed ones.  All
Willoughby boys could swim, and as Mr Parrett had taught most of them
to do so himself, he hardly stood in need of the help of his three
pupils.  A few strokes brought them all to the bank in safety.

An uncomfortable moment ensued.  Mr Parrett said nothing to the three
dripping boys who stood before him, but called to the boys in the boat
to row in, bringing the skiff with them.

All the while this was being done, Telson and Parson looked despairingly
at one another, and darted scared looks at Mr Parrett.  He appeared not
to notice them, but stood impatiently waiting for the boats.

"Is the scull broken?" he called out as they approached.

"No, sir," said Wakefield.

The skiff was put in close to the bank, and a brief examination showed
that it was not damaged.  Mr Parrett got into it, and without saying a
word began to push off.

"Please, sir," cried Parson at this point, feeling that his last chance
was going, "I'm so sorry.  We didn't know it was you, sir.  It was all
my fault."

"No, sir," shouted Telson, "it was all my fault.  We're awfully sorry,
sir."

Mr Parrett took no notice of these protestations, but said, quietly,
"You'd better get home quickly and change your things."

So saying he sculled off, with a face hardly less puzzled than the small
scared faces which, after watching him go, turned dismally to their own
unlucky Noah's Ark.

On their arrival at the school some half-hour later, Parson, Telson,
Bosher, King, and Lawkins were informed that, having been reported for
being absent at call-over, the captain wished to see them in his study
after breakfast the next morning.

Later on that same evening another notice reached them that they were
wanted in Mr Parrett's room at once.



CHAPTER SIX.

BREAKERS AHEAD.

Mr Parrett was a popular master at Willoughby.  He was an old Cambridge
"blue," and it was to his influence and example that the school in
general, and Parrett's house in particular, were chiefly indebted for
their excellence in all manly sports.  He was the most patient of
trainers, and the most long-suffering of "coaches."  Nearly all his
spare time was given up to the public service.  Every afternoon you
would be sure to find him in his flannels running along the bank beside
some boat, or standing to be bowled at by aspiring young cricketers in
the meadow, or superintending a swimming party up at the Willows.

Boys didn't give Mr Parrett credit for all the self-denial he really
underwent; for he had a way of seeming to enjoy even the drudgery of his
self-imposed work, and it rarely occurred even to the most hopeless of
"duffers" to imagine that all the trouble spent over him was anything
but a pleasure to the master who spent it.

Mr Parrett had his reward, however, in the good will of the boys
generally, which he prized highly, and nowhere was he more popular than
among the juniors of his own house.

What was their dismay, therefore, at the accident of that unlucky
afternoon, and with what doleful faces did they present themselves in a
melancholy procession at the door of his room at the appointed hour!

"Come in," said Mr Parrett, who was still in his flannels, and had not
quite done tea.  "Oh, you are the boys that I met on the river this
afternoon.  All except one belonging to my house, I see."

"Yes, sir," exclaimed Telson, who was the distinguished exception,
"they're all Parretts except me, and it was all my fault, sir, and
I'm--"

"No," interrupted Parson, "it was all my fault; I was steering."

"It was all our faults," said Lawkins.

"Oh," said Mr Parrett, who could not help looking a little amused at
the eager faces of the young culprits.  "Perhaps it was my fault for not
looking where I was coming to."

"Oh, sir," said Parson, "that wouldn't have been any good.  We ran you
down on purpose."

"Eh?" said Mr Parrett, not quite sure whether he had heard correctly.

"That is, we didn't know it was you, sir; we thought it was a
schoolhouse--" (here Telson looked threatening)--"I mean we thought it
was some one else.  We wouldn't have done it if we thought it was you,
sir--indeed we wouldn't."

"No, sir, that we wouldn't," chimed in the chorus.

"And who did you think it was, pray?" inquired Mr Parrett.

"A schoolhouse fellow," replied Parson, avoiding Telson's glances.

"Which schoolhouse boy?" asked the master.

"Any one, sir.  It didn't matter much which."

"Indeed.  And what has the schoolhouse done to you?" said Mr Parrett,
leaning back in his chair and pushing his plate away.

It wasn't an easy question, but Parson felt something ought to be said.

"Some of them are rather cads, sir," he said.

("Parson," whispered Telson.  "I'll fight you when you get outside.")

"I mean, sir," said Parson, hurriedly, "that is--(I beg pardon, Telson,
old man, I didn't mean)--they don't like us, and--"

"And we don't like them," said Lawkins.

"And you think they ought to like you?" asked Mr Parrett, severely.

This was a poser.  The Parrett juniors had never asked themselves the
question before.

"Now listen to me," said Mr Parrett.  "I'm angry with you, and I'm
going to punish you.  I am not angry with you for capsizing me this
afternoon.  You did it by mistake, you say, and no harm was done.  And
I'm not going to punish you for being out late, for that the captain
will do.  But boys who make nuisances of themselves and then complain
that other boys don't like them are not to be put up with in Willoughby.
You five have had a lesson already.  You might have caused a much worse
accident than you did by your folly.  You may be thankful you did not.
For a week neither of you is to go on to the river at all, and after
that till the end of the term you will only be allowed to go with the
captain's permission, or in the company of a senior.  You can go."

The party turned to obey, when Mr Parrett added, "Three of you, Telson,
Parson, and Lawkins, remain a moment."

The other two went off, leaving their three comrades standing at the end
of the table, wondering what on earth was coming next.

Mr Parrett's manner changed as he turned to them.  He became
embarrassed, and spoke almost nervously.

"You three," he said, "jumped in after me this afternoon, did you not?"

"Yes, please, sir," said Telson; "Parson was first, sir."

Mr Parrett rose from his seat, and, without saying a word, shook hands
with each one of them, greatly to their astonishment and confusion.

"You can go now," said the master, when the ceremony was concluded;
"good-night, boys."

"Good-night, sir," said they, and filed out of the room.

It was some time before Parson and Telson, as they walked slowly back
along the passage, could find words suitable to the occasion.  Then
Telson said, "Well, that was a rum thing of him to do!"

"What did he mean?" asked Parson.

"Goodness knows.  But, I say, it's a jolly soak being stopped the river,
though."

"Yes, and having to get a `permit' when the time is up.  I'd sooner not
go on than beg a `permit' of the captain."

"I wonder what he'll say to us to-morrow," said Telson.  "He won't lick
us, eh?"

"He'd better not," said Parson.  "You and I could lick him easy."

"I suppose he'll give us a howling impot.  I say I'm getting fagged of
impots.  I've had four this week."

"I've had three," sighed Telson.  "Heigho!  Willoughby's going to the
dogs.  I've a good mind to cut the whole concern."

And so in rather desponding mood the two friends separated, and Telson
had an exciting chase across the quadrangle to avoid two monitors who
were prowling about there (as he concluded) for the express purpose of
"potting" him.

In this, however, he was mistaken.  The two monitors were Gilks of the
schoolhouse and Silk of Welch's, who were taking the air this hot summer
evening, and thinking and talking of anything but Master Telson.

"I tell you," said Gilks, "I detest the fellow."

"You detest such a lot of fellows, Gilks," said Silk.

"I know I do," said Gilks, "but I hate Riddell more than the lot put
together."

"I should have thought he was rather an inoffensive duffer," suggested
Silk.

"That's just the worst of it.  I'd give anything to catch him out in
anything that wasn't quite square, just to pay him out for his sickening
priggishness.  Why," he exclaimed, with increasing anger in his tone,
"what do you think he did the other day, long before he was captain, or
had any pretence to give himself airs?  He pulled me up before all the
fellows for--well, for using--"

"For swearing?" said Silk.

"Yes, if you like.  For swearing.  What business is it of his what I
say?  I should like to know."

"Usen't Wyndham to be down on fellows for swearing too?" asked Silk.

"Yes, he was," said Gilks (who had good reason to know); "but he had a
right to do it.  This cub hasn't."

"What did Riddell say?"

"What did he say?  He said it didn't make what I said any better worth
hearing for sticking in an oath, and that-- Oh, I don't know what
precious impudence he didn't give me."

"Ha, ha," said Silk, "it wasn't bad.  But I agree with you, the fellow
is a prig--"

"I know I mean to make a stand now," said Gilks.  "He shan't stick up
his sanctimonious nose over us all, now he's captain, if I can help it."

"Why, what will you do?" asked Silk.

"Do!  I'll punch his head the first time he dare lecture me."

"My dear fellow," said Silk, "don't be such a fool.  You won't do a bit
of good by that.  If you do want to pay him out, pay him out in his own
coin."

"How do you mean?" inquired Gilks.

"I mean, keep a sharp lookout till you catch his holiness tripping."

"But the beggar never does trip.  He's so vilely careful, he never gives
a chance," growled Gilks.

"Awfully uncivil of him, when he knows how grateful we should be to
him," said Silk, laughing.  "Never mind, old man, keep in with him if
you can.  Something's sure to turn up.  He won't suspect you, as you're
in the schoolhouse; and we ought to be able to manage to put a spoke in
his wheel somehow."

"Wish you may do it," said Gilks.  "Anyhow, I dare say you are right;
it's no use flaring up too soon, if there is a chance of doing him.  By
the way, Fairbairn's pretty nearly as bad as Riddell; they're a pair,
you know."

"Yes, but Fairbairn's in the boat," said Silk.

"So he is; and what's more, he's got a spite against me, and wants to
turn me out of it."

"Why?"

"He says I don't do enough work.  I should like to know how a fellow is
to work behind a sanctimonious ass like him?"

"I hear the schoolhouse boat isn't a bad one, even without Wyndham,"
said Silk.

"Pretty fair.  But if I'm in it I'll see it doesn't win," said Gilks.

"What a nice boy you are, to be sure!  I suppose you've a bet on
Parrett's, like me?"

"No, I haven't," said Gilks, "but I want it to win all the same, because
of Bloomfield.  If Parrett's gets to the head of the river, there's all
the better chance of getting Bloomfield for captain next term; and
things would be far pleasanter then."

"Yes.  I don't suppose Bloomfield's very particular," said Silk.

"Not he.  You can make him do what you like.  He's not all the notions
of his own that the Reverend Riddell has, hang him!"

"Well, old man," said Silk, "as I said before, you're a nice boy, and a
sweet companion for a tender youth like me.  Ha, ha!  Good-night.  Are
you one of the deputation that's going to present the petition in the
morning?"

"Yes, I am," said Gilks.

"Take my advice and back out of it.  It won't come to anything, and if
you're not mixed up in it our pious friends will think you are one of
them, and that'll pay.  Do you twig?  Good-night.  You _are_ a nice
boy!"

So saying these two worthies separated.

Gilks acted on his friend's advice, and contrived to be absent after
chapel next morning, when it was proposed to present the petition to the
doctor.  He managed to invent some excuse for his desertion which made
it appear it was unavoidable.  Nevertheless it was a good deal
complained of, because he had been the only representative of the
schoolhouse who had promised to go with the others to the doctor.

However it was decided not to postpone the ceremony any further.  As it
was, one or two were beginning to have their doubts as to its wisdom,
and Game and those like him, who were the prime movers in the matter,
began to fear the whole thing might fall through.

So, directly after morning chapel, the deputation, consisting of three,
marched boldly to the doctor's library and knocked at the door.

"Come in," said Dr Patrick.

He was surprised to see three monitors obey the invitation.  It was very
rarely that a petition was presented from the school to the head master
at Willoughby.  Once, some years ago, a petition signed by the entire
school, from the captain down to the junior fag, praying for a holiday
in honour of an old Willoughbite having led the British troops to
victory in a great battle, had been presented and granted.  And once
since then, a petition from the monitors of each house requesting that
the head of each house might be allowed to use the cane when necessary,
instead of the captain of the school only, had been presented and
declined.

Now came a third petition, signed by certain monitors of two houses,
asking the doctor to withdraw one captain and substitute another.

"What is it?" asked the head master.

"A petition, sir," said Game, handing the momentous document in.

The doctor opened it and glanced at it with a puzzled look, which soon
darkened into a frown.

"What is all this?" he asked, looking up.

His aspect was not promising.  Nevertheless it was necessary for some
one to speak, and Game therefore blurted out, "We don't think Riddell
will make a good captain, sir, and--" and here stopped.

"And what, sir?" demanded the doctor.

"And," said Game, in rather a faltering voice, "we thought you would not
be angry if we petitioned you about it."

"Do you speak for yourself, Game," said the doctor, "or for others?"

"For the monitors, sir; that is, for those who have signed that paper."

The doctor folded up the petition and handed it back to Game without
reading it.

"I am glad you have told me what it is all about," said he, sternly, "in
time to prevent my reading either the petition or the names attached.
It does not do you credit as monitors, and I hope you will soon see the
matter in the same light.  I did not expect it of you, but I regret it
less on your account than on account of the school, to whom you have set
a bad example.  You may go."

The doctor spoke in tones of unwonted anger, not unmixed with scorn.  He
rarely "flared up," but when he did it was always uncomfortable for
those against whom his wrath was roused.

The deputation slunk off sheepishly, carrying their petition with them,
and too glad to get out of the angry presence of the head master to
think of anything else.

The doctor may have been right, and probably was right in thus summarily
extinguishing the petition and the petitioners.  But he had done it in a
manner which was hardly calculated to smooth matters.

Indeed, when the deputation reported their bad success to the monitors
who awaited them, the general feeling was far more one of anger at being
snubbed than of repentance for having done a foolish thing.

"If Paddy had only taken the trouble to read the thing through," said
Ashley, "and honour us with one or two reasons for not doing what we
asked, it wouldn't have been so bad."

"As it is he's as good as told us to mind our own business and he'll
mind his," said Tipper, little thinking how exactly he had described the
case.

"If we're not to be allowed to say a word about the management of the
school," said Game, "I don't see what right he has to expect us to do
his work for him, and keep order."

"Oh, it won't do to resign or anything of that sort," said Ashley.
"That would be like funking it altogether."

"He'll soon find his mistake out, never fear," said another.  "He won't
listen to us, but he can't help believing his own eyes."

"Yes, it can't go on for long," said Tipper.  "Riddell's bound to show
that he's not up to his work sooner or later, and I won't interfere to
prevent it."

"Meanwhile," said Game, who of all the malcontents was the most honest,
"what's to become of Willoughby?  We must keep some sort of order,
whoever is captain."

"Why, whatever authority can we have when the most we can do is to
report fellows to that milksop?" said Tipper.

"I'll tell you what," said Ashley, "if we're compelled to _call_ Riddell
captain, there's nothing to prevent us considering another fellow so."

"What do you mean?" asked some one.

"He means," said Game, "and it's not half a bad idea, that if Bloomfield
will help us to keep order, we can consider him captain whether he's
called so or not.  If once the fellows know they'll get reported to him,
we shall have some sort of authority."

"Of course," said Bloomfield, who had not yet spoken, "I'll do my best
to keep order and all that; but as I'm not captain, it's no use to
pretend being it."

"Oh, we'll see about that," said Ashley.  "If you choose to work for the
school after what has happened, all I can say is you deserve to be
backed up, and I'll back you up for one."

"So will I," said Wibberly.

Bloomfield could not resist flattery.  As soon as it was represented to
him that the hope of Willoughby centred in him, and that he was acting a
beautiful and Christian part in still taking an interest in its welfare
after the way he had been treated, he felt as if he really ought to meet
his admirers half-way.

"Already a lot of the kids consider you as captain," said Game.  "Didn't
you hear a boatful of them cheering you yesterday?"

"Yes," said Bloomfield, "I heard that."

"Very well, they're much more likely to keep order for you than for that
other fellow.  We'll try it anyhow."

"I know a lot of the schoolhouse monitors think just the same as we do,"
said Tipper, "but they're so precious jealous for their house.  They'd
sooner stick to Riddell than allow a Parrett's fellow to be cock of the
school."

"A Parrett's fellow is cock of the school all the same," said Wibberly.
"I wish the regatta was over.  That will put things right."

"Yes; when once Parrett's boat is at the head of the river the
schoolhouse won't have much to crow for," said Ashley.

"For all that," replied Bloomfield, "they seem to be grinding a bit with
the crew they have got."

"Let them grind," said Game, laughing.  "I'd as soon back Welch's boat
as theirs.  Fairbairn's the only man that does any work, and he's no
form at all.  Why don't they put the new captain in the boat, I wonder?"

The bare idea was sufficient to set the company laughing, in the midst
of which the assembly-dispersed.

"By the way," said Game to Ashley, as they went into the "Big," "to-
night is the opening meeting of the School Parliament.  I mean to
propose Bloomfield for president; will you second it?"

"Rather," said Ashley.



CHAPTER SEVEN.

THE NEW CAPTAIN ENTERS ON HIS DUTIES.

The morning that witnessed the collapse of the famous Monitors' Petition
had not been idly spent by the new captain.  He had made the worst
possible preparation for his new duties by lying awake half the night,
brooding over his difficulties and working himself into a state of
nervous misery very unlike what one would expect of the captain of a
great public school.

What worried him was not so much that he felt himself unpopular, or that
he knew all Willoughby was in arms against him.  That wasn't cheerful,
certainly, or precisely solacing to a fellow's self-esteem; but it was
not nearly so disheartening as the feeling that he himself was unequal
to cope with the difficulties he would have to face.  How could he cope
with them?  He had never succeeded yet in keeping Telson, his own fag,
in order.  How was he to expect to administer discipline to all the
scapegraces of Willoughby?  It would be bad enough, even if the monitors
as a body were working with him, but when he was left almost single-
handed, as seemed probable, what chance was there?  Whatever would he do
supposing a boy was reported to him for some offence, such as going out
of bounds or--

By the way!  And here a horrible thought flashed across his mind.  He
had been so flurried last night with one thing and another that he had
hardly noticed a message sent him after call-over by the Register Clerk.
But it occurred to him now that it was about some boys who had not
answered to their names.

He got out of bed with a groan and searched the mantelpiece for the
note.  Ah! here it was:

"Co.  Fr. p.m., Telson (S.H.), Bosher, King, Lawkins, Parson (P), Abs.
Go Capt. 8½ Sa.  (Telson 2, Bosher 1, Parson 2.)"

After a great deal of puzzling and cogitation Riddell managed to
translate this lucid document into ordinary English as follows:

"Call-Over, Friday evening, Telson (schoolhouse), Bosher, King, Lawkins,
Parson (Parrett's), absent.  To go to the captain at half-past eight on
Saturday.  (Telson has already been absent twice this week, Bosher once,
Parson twice.)" And with the discovery the unhappy captain found his
worst fears realised.

Whatever would he do?  It was now half-past five.  In three hours they
would be here.  What would Wyndham have done?  Caned them, no doubt.
Riddell had no cane.  Ruler?  He might break one of their ringers, or
they might resist; or worse still baffle him with some ingenious excuse
which he would not know how to deal with.

He sat by his bed staring hopelessly at the paper and wishing himself
anywhere but head of the school--and then as no new light appeared to
dawn on the question, and as going back to bed would be a farce, he
proceeded to dress.

He had just completed his toilet when he heard some one moving in the
next study.

"There's Fairbairn getting up," he said to himself.  "I wonder if he
could help me?"

He thought he could.  And yet, under the nervous exterior of this boy
there lurked a certain pride which held him back from acting on the
impulse.  After all, if he was to do the work, why should he try to
shunt part of his responsibility on to another?

So, though he went to his friend's study, he said nothing about the
batch of juniors from whom he expected a morning call.

Fairbairn was arraying himself in his boating things, and greeted his
friend cheerily.

"Hullo, Riddell, here's an early start for you!"

"Yes," said Riddell; "I couldn't sleep very well, so I thought I might
as well get up."

"Best thing for you.  But why haven't you your flannels on?"

"I'm not going out," said Riddell.  "Besides, I don't believe I have
flannels," added he.

"What, a Willoughby captain and no flannels!  You'll have to get a suit
at once, do you hear?  But, I say, why don't you come down to the river
with Porter and me?  We're going to have a little practice spin, and you
could steer us.  It would do you more good than sticking indoors.  Come
along."

Riddell protested he would rather not, and that he couldn't steer; but
Fairbairn pooh-poohed both objections, and finally carried off his man
to the river, where his unwonted appearance in the stern of the
schoolhouse pair-oar caused no little astonishment and merriment among
the various early visitors who usually frequented the waters of the
Craydle.

Despite these unflattering remarks, and despite the constant terror he
was in of piloting his boat into the bank, or running foul of other
boats, Riddell decidedly enjoyed his little outing, the more so as the
exercise and occupation drove away entirely for a time all thoughts of
the coming visit of the ill-behaved juniors.

But as soon as he returned to the school the prospect of this ordeal
began again to haunt him, and spoilt morning chapel for him completely.

As he stood during the service in his captain's place he could not
prevent his eye wandering hurriedly down the ranks of boys opposite and
wondering how many of them he would be called upon to interview in his
study before the term was over.  As he reached the end of the array his
eye rested on Telson close to the door, talking and laughing behind his
hand with Parson, who listened in an unconcerned way, and looked about
him as if he felt himself to be the monarch of all he surveyed.  These
were two of the boys who would wait upon him in his study immediately
after prayers!  Riddell turned quite miserable at the idea.

Prayers ended at last, and while the other monitors repaired to the
Sixth Form room to discuss the presentation of the petition as narrated
in our last chapter, Riddell walked dejectedly to his study and prepared
to receive company.

No one came for a long time, and Riddell was beginning to hope that,
after all, the dreaded interview was not to come off, or that there was
a mistake somewhere, and some one else was to deal with the culprits
instead of himself, when a scuttling of footsteps down the passage made
his blood run cold and his heart sink into his boots.

"I _must_ be cool," he said to himself, fiercely, as a knock sounded at
the door, "or I shall make a fool of myself.  Come in."

In response to this somewhat tremulous invitation, Telson, Parson,
Bosher, Lawkins, King, trooped into his study, the picture of
satisfaction and assurance, and stood lounging about the room with their
hands in their pockets as though curiosity was the sole motive of their
visit.

Riddell, while waiting for them, had hastily considered what he ought to
say or do.  But now, any ideas he ever had darted from his mind, and he
gazed nervously at the small company.

"Oh!" said he at length, breaking silence by a tremendous effort, and
conscious that he was looking as confused as he felt, "I suppose you are
the boy--"

"Yes," said Bosher, leaning complacently against the table and staring
at a picture over the mantelpiece.

"The boys who were late," said Riddell, stammering.  "Let me see."  Here
he took up the paper and began to read it over: "`Co.  Pri.  Telson
(S.H.).'  Ah, yes!  Telson.  You were late, weren't you?  Why were you
late?"

A question like this was decidedly a novelty; Wyndham's formula had
invariably been, "Telson, hold out your hand," and then if Telson had
anything to remark he was at liberty to do so.  But to be thus invited
to make excuses was an unexpected treat which these cunning juniors were
quite sharp enough to jump at.

"Oh, you know," began Telson, "it wasn't our fault.  We were up-stream
in the Ark, and meant to be back all right, only the schoolhouse boat
overhauled us, and we had to race them a bit--didn't we, you fellows?"

"Rather," said Parson; "and a spanking race it was.  We held up to them
all down the Willow Reach, and were just collaring them for the finish
up to Balsham Weir, when the beasts pulled in and funked it."

"And then, of course, we couldn't get back in time," said Lawkins.  "We
were jolly fagged--weren't we, you fellows?--and it was all a plant of
those schoolhouse cads."

"Fight you!" said Telson, menacingly.

"Oh, beg pardon, old man, didn't mean.  They ran us up on purpose to
make us late.  You ask them.  It was a beastly low trick!"

"And then coming back," continued Telson, "we ran down old Parrett in
his skiff and spilt him, and we had to fish him out--didn't we, you
chaps?--and that made us late.  You ask Parrett; he's potted us for it,
last night."

Riddell listened to all this in a bewildered way, not knowing what to
make of it.  If the boys' story was correct, there certainly might be
some force in their excuse.  It would hardly be fair to punish them if
they were decoyed out of their way by some seniors.  And then, of
course, this story about Mr Parrett; they would never make up a story
like that.  And if it was true--well, he did not see how they could have
done otherwise than stay and help him out of the water after capsizing
him into it.  It really seemed to him as if these boys did not deserve
to be punished.  True, Telson and Parson had been twice late this week,
but that was not what they were reported for now.  The question was,
were they to be chastised for this third offence or not?

"What did Mr Parrett do to you?" he asked presently.  "Oh," said
Parson, gaily, fully taking in the situation so far, "he was down on us
hot.  He's stopped our going on the river a week, and then we've got to
get a permit till the end of the term.  Jolly hard lines it is,
especially race term.  I shan't be able to cox.  Parrett's boat at the
regatta.  No more will young Telson cox the schoolhouse boat.  You ask
Parrett," said he, in tones of manly appeal.

"Then you mean Mr Parrett has already punished you?" asked Riddell.

"Rather," said Telson.  "I'd sooner have had a licking any day than get
stopped river-play.  Wouldn't you, Parson?"

"I should think I would," said Parson.

"Well," said Riddell, dubiously, "of course if Mr Parrett has already
punished you--"

"You ask him!" again said Parson.  "You ask him if he's not stopped our
river-play.  Ah five of us!  Mayn't go on at all for a week, and then
we've got to get your permit.  Isn't that what he said, you chaps?"

"Yes," chimed in the "chaps," in injured voices.

"Well, then," said Riddell, "as that is so, I think you can--that is, I
wish just to tell you--you--it mustn't occur again."

"Oh, all right," said Parson, making for the door.

"And I hope," began Riddell--

But what it was he hoped, his youthful audience did not remain to hear.
They had vanished with amazing celerity, and the captain, as he walked
pensively up to the door and shut it, could hear them marching jauntily
down the passage shouting and laughing over their morning's adventures.

A moment's reflection satisfied Riddell that he had been "done" by these
unscrupulous youngsters.  He had let them off on their own
representations, and without taking due care to verify their story.  And
now it would go out to all Willoughby that the new captain was a fool,
and that any one who liked could be late for call-over if only he had
the ingenuity to concoct a plausible story when he was reported.  A nice
beginning this to his new reign!  Riddell saw it all clearly now, when
it was too late.  Why ever had he not seen it as clearly at the time?

Was it too late?  Riddell went to the door again and looked down the
passage.  The young malefactors were out of sight, but their footsteps
and voices were still audible.  Hadn't he better summon them back?  Had
not he better, at any cost to his own pride, own that he had made a
mistake, rather than let the discipline of Willoughby run down?

He took a few hurried steps in the direction of the voices, and was even
making up his mind to run, when it suddenly occurred to him, "What if,
after all, their story _had_ been true, and the calling of them back
should be a greater mistake even than the letting of them off?"

This awkward doubt drove him back once more to his study, where,
shutting the door, he flung himself into his chair in a state of abject
despondency and shame.

Twenty times he determined to go to the doctor at once, and refuse for
an hour longer to play the farce of being captain of Willoughby.  And as
often another spirit kept him back, and whispered to him that it was
only the cowards who gave in at a single failure.

From these unpleasant reflections the summons to first school was a
welcome diversion, and he gladly shook off the captain for an hour, and
figured in his more congenial part of a scholar.  But even here he was
not allowed wholly to forget his new responsibilities.  Nearly all those
around him were fellow-monitors, who had just come smarting from the
doctor's summary rejection of their petition; and Riddell could tell by
their angry looks and ill-tempered words that he, however innocent, was
the object of their irritation.  He had never been a favourite before,
but it certainly was not pleasant to have to learn now by the most
unmistakable signs that he was downrightly unpopular and disliked by
those from whom he should have had his warmest backing up.

And yet, strange to say, it was this sense of his own unpopularity which
more than anything nerved him to a resolution to stick to his post, and,
come what would of it, do his best to discharge his new unwelcome tasks.
If only he could feel a little more sure of himself!  But how was it
likely he could feel sure of himself after his lamentable failure of the
morning?

But the lamentable failure of the morning, as it happened, was nothing
to other failures speedily to follow on this same unlucky day.

Scarcely was Riddell back in his study after first school, hoping for a
little breathing space in which to recover his fluttered spirits, when
Gilks entered and said, "I say, there's a row going on in the Fourth.
You'd better stop it, or the doctor will be down on us."

And so saying he vanished, leaving the captain about as comfortable with
this piece of intelligence as he would have been with a bombshell
suddenly pitched into his study.

A row in the Fourth! the headquarters of the Limpets, each one of whom
was a stronger man than he, and whom Wyndham himself had often been put
to it to keep within bounds!

With an ominous shiver Riddell put on his cap and sallied out in the
direction of the Fourth.  A man about to throw himself over a precipice
could hardly have looked less cheerful!

Gilks's report had certainly been well founded, for long before the
captain reached his destination the roar of battle sounded up the
passage.  It may have been an ordinary Limpet row, or it may have been a
special diversion got up (with the connivance of one or two unfriendly
monitors) for the special benefit of the new captain.  Be that as it
may, it was a disturbance calling for instant suppression, and the idea
of Riddell going to suppress it was ridiculous even to himself.

He opened the door, unnoticed by the combatants within both on account
of the noise and the dust.  It was impossible to tell what the fight was
about; the blood on both sides was evidently up, and the battle, it was
clear, was anything but a mock one.  Riddell stood there for some time a
bewildered and unrecognised spectator.  It would be useless for him to
attempt to make himself heard above all the din, and worse than useless
to attempt single-handed to interpose between the combatants.  The only
thing to do seemed to be to wait till the battle was over.  But then,
thought Riddell, what would be the use of interfering when it was all
over?  His duty was to stop it, and stop it he must!

With which resolve, and taking advantage of a momentary lull in the
conflict, he advanced with a desperate effort towards a boy who appeared
to be the leader of one of the two parties, and who was gesticulating
and shouting at the top of his voice to encourage his followers.  This
champion did not notice the captain as he approached, and when he did,
he mistook him for one of the enemy, and sprang at him like a young
tiger, knocking him over just as the ranks once more closed, and the
battle began again.

What might have been Riddell's fate it would be hard to say had not a
loud shout of, "Man down there!  Hold hard!" suddenly suspended
hostilities.

Such a cry was never disregarded at Willoughby, even by the most
desperate of combatants, and every one stood now impatiently where he
was, waiting for the obstruction to regain his feet.

The spectacle which the new captain of Willoughby presented, as with
scared face and dust-covered garment he rose slowly from the floor, was
strange indeed.  It was a second or two before any one recognised him,
and then the boys seemed not to be sure whether it was not his ghost, so
mysteriously had he appeared in their midst, coming from no one knew
where.

As, however, the true state of affairs gradually dawned on them, a loud
shout of laughter rose on every hand, and the quarrel was at once
forgotten in the merriment occasioned by this wonderful apparition.

Riddell, pale and agitated, stood where he was as one in a dream, from
which he was only aroused by voices shouting out amid the laughter,
"Hullo! where did you come from?  What's the row?  Look at him!"

At the same time fellows crowded round him and offered to brush him
down, accompanying their violent services with bursts of equally violent
merriment.

With a hard effort Riddell shook himself free and stepped out of the
crowd.

"Please let me go," he said.  "I just came to say there was too much
noise, and--"

But the laughter of the Limpets drowned the rest, in the midst of which
he retired miserably to the door and escaped.

In the passage outside he met Bloomfield, with Wibberly and Game,
hurrying to the scene of the riot.  They scarcely deigned to recognise
him with anything more than a half-curious, half-contemptuous glance.

"Some one must stop this row!" said Bloomfield to his companions as they
passed.  "The doctor will be down on us."

"You stop it, Bloomfield!" said Wibberly; "they'll shut up for _you_."

This was all the unfortunate Riddell heard, except that in a few moments
the uproar from the Fourth Form room suddenly ceased, and was not
renewed.

"What did Bloomfield do this morning when he came into your room?" asked
Riddell that evening of Wyndham junior, a Limpet in whom, for his
brother's sake, the new captain felt a special interest, and whom he
invited as often as he liked to come and prepare his lessons with him.

"Oh!" said Wyndham, who had been one of the combatants, "he gave Watkins
and Cattermole a hiding, and swore he'd allow no removes from the
Limpets' eleven to the school second this term if there was any more
row."

This reply by no means added to Riddell's comfort.

"Gave Cattermole and Watkins a hiding."  Fancy _his_ attempting to give
Cattermole and Watkins a hiding!  And not only that, he had held out
some awful threat about Limpets' cricket, which appeared to have a
magical effect.

Fancy the effect of _his_ threatening to exclude a Limpet from the
second-eleven--when it was all he knew that the school had a second-
eleven!

The difficulties and perplexities which had loomed before him in the
morning were closing around him now in grim earnest!  The worst he had
feared had happened, and more than the worst.  It was now proved beyond
all doubt that he was utterly incompetent.  Would it not be sheer
madness in him to attempt this impossible task a day longer?

The reader has no doubt asked the same question long ago.  Of _course_
it's madness of him to attempt it.  A muff like Riddell never _could_ be
captain of a school, and it's all bosh to suppose he could be.  But, my
dear reader, a muff like Riddell _was_ the captain of a school; and
what's more he didn't give it up even after the day's adventures just
described.

Riddell was not perfect.  I know it is an unheard-of thing for a good
boy in a story-book not to be perfect, and that is one reason which
convinces me this story of mine must be an impossible one.  Riddell was
not perfect.  He had a fault.  Can you believe it--he had many faults?
He even had a besetting sin, and that besetting sin was pride.  Not the
sort of pride that makes you consider yourself better than your
neighbours.  Riddell really couldn't think that even had he wished it.
But his pride was of that kind which won't admit of anybody to help it,
which would sooner knock its head to bits against a stone wall than own
it can't get through it, and which can never bring itself to say "I am
beaten," even when it is clear to all the world it is beaten.

Pride had had a fall this day at any rate; but it had risen again more
stubborn than ever; and if Riddell went to bed that night the most
unhappy boy in Willoughby, he went there also resolving more than ever
to remain its captain.

Other events had happened that day which, one might suppose, should have
convinced him he was attempting an impossibility.  But these must be
reserved for the next chapter.



CHAPTER EIGHT.

THE WILLOUGHBY PARLIAMENT IN SESSION.

The "Parliament" at Willoughby was one of the very old institutions of
the school.  Old, white-headed Willoughbites, when talking of their
remote schooldays, would often recall their exploits "on the floor of
the house," when Pilligrew (now a Cabinet Minister) brought in his
famous bill to abolish morning chapel in winter, and was opposed by
Jilson (now Ambassador to the Court at Whereisit) in a speech two hours
long; or when old Coates (a grandfather, by the way, of the present
bearer of that name in the school) divided the house fifteen times in
one afternoon on the question of presenting a requisition to the head
master to put more treacle into the suet puddings!  They were exciting
days, and the custom had gone on flourishing up to the present.

The Willoughby Parliament was an institution which the masters of the
school wisely connived at, while holding aloof themselves from its
proceedings.  There was no restraint as to the questions to be discussed
or the manner and time of the discussion, provided the rules of the
school were not infringed.  The management was entirely in the hands of
the boys, who elected their own officers, and paid sixpence a term for
the privilege of a seat in the august assembly.

The proceedings were regulated by certain rules handed down by long
tradition according to which the business of the House was modelled as
closely as possible on the procedure of the House of Commons itself.
Every boy was supposed to represent some place or other, and marvellous
was the scouring of atlases and geography books to discover
constituencies for the young members.  There was a Government and an
Opposition, of course, only in the case of the former the "Ministers"
were elected by the votes of the whole assembly, at the beginning of
each session.  They were designated by the titles of their office.
There was a Premier and a Home Secretary, and a First Lord of the
Admiralty, and so on, and great was the pride of a Willoughbite when he
first heard himself referred to as the Right Honourable!

Everything that came before the house had to come in the form of a bill
or a resolution.  Any one anxious to bring up a subject (and there was
nothing to prevent the junior fag bringing in a bill if he liked)
usually handed in his motion early in the session, so as to stand a good
chance of getting a date for his discussion.  Later on, when more
subjects were handed in than there were evenings to debate them, the
order was decided by ballot, and due notice given every Friday of the
business for the next evening.

Another feature of these meetings was, of course, the questions.  Any
one was entitled to question the "Government" on matters affecting the
school, and the putting and answering of these questions was usually the
most entertaining part of an evening's business.  Naturally enough, it
was not always easy to decide to whose department many of the questions
asked belonged, but tradition had settled this to some extent.  The Home
Secretary had to answer questions about the monitors, the First Lord of
the Admiralty about the boats, the Secretary of State for War about
fights, and so on, while more doubtful questions were usually first
asked of the Premier, who, if he didn't find it convenient to answer
them, was entitled to refer the inquirer to some other member of the
Government.

It need hardly be said that the meetings of the Willoughby Parliament
were occasionally more noisy than dignified, and yet there existed a
certain sense of order and respect for the "authority of the House"
which held the members in check, and prevented the meetings from
degenerating into riots.  Another reason for the same result existed in
the doctor, who sanctioned the Parliament only as long as it was
conducted in an orderly manner, and did not offend against the rules of
the school.  And a final and more terrible reason still was in the fact
that the House had the power of expelling a member who was generally
obnoxious.

The session at Willoughby always opened on the Saturday after the May
sports, and notice had been duly given that Parliament would assemble
this year on the usual date, and that the first business would be the
election of a Speaker and a Government.

The reader will easily understand that, under present circumstances, an
unusual amount of interest and curiosity centred in the opening meeting
of the school senate, and at the hour of meeting the big dining-hall,
arranged after the model of the great House of Commons, was, in spite of
the fact that it was a summer evening, densely packed by an excited
assembly of members.

Most of the boys as they entered had stopped a moment to read the "order
paper," which was displayed in a prominent place beside the door.  It
was crowned with notices, the first three of which gave a good idea of
the prospect of a lively evening.

1.  "That the captain of the school be elected Speaker of this House."
Proposed by T.  Fairbairn; seconded by E.  Coates.

2.  "That Mr Bloomfield be elected Speaker of this House."  Proposed by
G.  Game; seconded by R.  Ashley.

3.  "That Francis Cusack, Esquire, member for the Isle of Wight, be
elected Speaker of this House."  Proposed, A.  Pilbury, Esquire;
seconded, L.  Philpot, Esq.

The humour of the last notice was eclipsed by the seriousness of the
other two.  It had always been taken for granted that the captain of
Willoughby was also the Speaker of the House, and a contested election
for that office was without precedent.  Now, however, the old rule was
to be challenged; and as the members waited for the clock to strike six
they discussed the coming contest among themselves with a solemnity
which could hardly have been surpassed in Westminster itself.

The clock sounded at last; every one was in his place.  The seniors sat
ranged on the front benches on either side of the table, and the others
crowded the benches behind them, impatiently waiting for the proceedings
to commence.

According to custom, Riddell, as captain of the school, rose, and
briefly proposed, "That Mr Isaacs, Senior Limpet, be requested to
preside until after the election of a Speaker."

The appearance of the captain to move this resolution had always been
the signal for a loud ovation from the House.  But this year the cheers
were confined to a very small cluster of schoolhouse boys, and died away
languidly in the general silence which prevailed elsewhere.  Riddell's
motion being seconded and carried, Mr Isaacs, a pallid unintelligent-
looking Limpet, rose and advanced to the chair at the end of the table
usually occupied by the Chairman of Committees, and, knocking with a
hammer once or twice, demanded silence.  This being secured, he called
out, "Mr Fairbairn!" and sat down.

Fairbairn's speech was brief and to the point.

"I beg to move that the captain of the school be elected Speaker of this
House.  I don't know that I need say anything in support of this."
("Oh, oh!" from a voice opposite.) "The captain always has been Speaker,
and Mr Riddell has already taken an active part in the business of the
house and knows what the Speaker's duties are.  We all miss old
Wyndham,"--(loud cheers)--"but I'm sure Riddell will be a worthy
successor to him in the chair of this House."

Coates having said, "I beg to second the motion," Mr Isaacs put it to
the meeting, and asked if there was any amendment.  Whereupon Game rose,
amid loud cheers from all quarters.

Game, as has already been said, was an honest fellow.  He meant what he
said, and generally said what he meant.  He was fully convinced in his
own mind that Willoughby would go to the dogs under the new captain, and
therefore if Riddell had been his own twin-brother he would have
protested against him all the same.

"I beg to move an amendment," he said, "and it is this: That Mr
Bloomfield be appointed Speaker of this House instead of Mr Riddell."
(It will be noticed by the way that when Willoughby sat in Parliament
everybody was "Mr") "And the reason I do so is because I consider Mr
Bloomfield ought to be captain of the school instead of Mr Riddell.
(Loud Parrett cheers.)  I've nothing to say against Mr Riddell--(cheers
from the schoolhouse)--except that I don't consider he's the right man
in the right place.  (Great applause.)  He's been made captain against
our wishes,"--("Hear, hear," and "Oh, oh!")--"and we can't help it.  But
we're not obliged to have him captain here, and what's more, we don't
mean to!  (Terrific cheers, especially from the juniors.)  Mr
Bloomfield's our man.  Only to-day he stopped a row in the Fourth in two
minutes which Mr Riddell couldn't have stopped if he'd stayed till
now."  (Laughter, and cries of "Give him a clothes-brush!") "The fellows
all look up to Mr Bloomfield.  He ran grandly for the school at the
sports the other day, and licked the London fellow.  (Here the
enthusiasm became positively deafening.)  What's Mr Riddell done for
the school?  I should like to know.  We want a fellow who has done
something for the school, and, I repeat, Mr Bloomfield's our man, and I
hope you'll elect him Speaker."

Game sat down amidst a tempest of applause, which brought a flush of
pleasure even to his serious face.

Many curious eyes were turned to Riddell to see the effect of this
uncomplimentary oration upon him.

At first he had looked nervous and uncomfortable, and had even whispered
to Fairbairn, who sat next him, "Don't you think I'd better go?"

"For goodness' sake, no!" exclaimed Fairbairn.  "Don't be a fool,
Riddell."

The caution had its weight.  Riddell saw he must brave it out; and that
being settled, he felt more comfortable, and listened to all the
unpleasant things that were said in a composed manner which greatly
perplexed his adversaries.

Ashley, who seconded Game's motion, was hardly so fortunate in his
remarks as his predecessor.

"I second the motion, gentlemen," he said.  "It's time we made a stand
against this sort of thing."  ("What sort of thing?" from voices on the
schoolhouse side.) "Why, schoolhouse tyranny.  (Frantic Parrett cheers.)
Why is the whole credit of Willoughby to be sacrificed for the sake of
your precious schoolhouse?"  ("Question!"  "Order!" drowned by renewed
cheers.) "Why, just because he's a schoolhouse fellow, is a muff to be
stuck over us? and just because he's a Parrett's fellow, is a splendid
fellow like Mr Bloomfield to be snubbed in the face of the whole
school?  (Loud cheers.)  It's time Willoughby found out that Parrett is
the cock house of the school."  ("Oh! oh!" from the Welchers.) "It's got
the best men in it.  (Parrett cheers.)  It's head of the river."  ("Oh
no, not yet," from Fairbairn.) "Well, it will be very soon.  It's ahead
in everything."  ("Except intelligence," from Crossfield.) "No, I don't
even except intelligence.  (Loud cheers from Bosher, and laughter.)
And, as a sign of its intelligence, I beg to second the motion."

This abrupt and somewhat vague termination to Ashley's spirited address
did not detract from the applause with which it was greeted by his own
partisans, or from the wrath with which it was received by the
schoolhouse boys.

The moment he sat down Crossfield sprang to his feet.  This was the
signal for loud schoolhouse cheers, and for general attention from all
quarters, for Crossfield usually had something to say worth listening
to.

"Mr Limpet, sir,"--(loud laughter; Isaacs, who had been drawing niggers
on the paper before him, started, and blushed very much to find himself
thus appealed to)--"I am sure we are all much obliged to the honourable
member who has just sat down for the `sign of intelligence' he has just
favoured us with.  (Laughter.)  We've been looking for it for a long
time--(laughter)--and it's come at last!  (Cheers and laughter.)  Sir,
it would be a great pity to let such an occasion pass without notice.
I'm not sure that the doctor might not think it worth a half-holiday.  A
sign of intelligence from the hon. gentleman!  And what is the sign,
sir?  (Laughter.)  The hon. member seconds the motion."  ("Hear, hear!"
from Parrett's.) "Gentlemen of the same party say `Hear, hear!' as much
as to say, `We, too, show signs of intelligence!'  Do you really,
gentlemen?  I could not have believed it.  (Loud laughter.)  Why does he
second the motion?  Because he's a Parrett's boy, and Mr Bloomfield is
a Parrett's boy, and all Parrett's boys say a Parrett's boy ought to be
the head of the school!  Gentlemen, parrots aren't always to be trusted,
even when they show signs of intelligence!  (Cheers and laughter.)
Don't you believe all a parrot tells you about parrots.  (Laughter.)  I
prefer the arguments of the gentleman who moved the amendment.  He says
he doesn't think Mr Riddell is fit to be captain.  (Cheers.)  I agree
with him--(tremendous Parrett's cheers, and consternation of
schoolhouse)--I don't think Mr Riddell is fit to be captain.  He
doesn't think so himself."  ("Hear, hear!" from Riddell, and laughter.)
"But the gentleman says Mr Bloomfield is the man.  (Loud cheers.)  I
don't agree with that at all.  Mr Riddell knows very little about
sports, though I do hear he was seen coxing a schoolhouse boat this
morning.  (Derisive cheers.)  Mr Bloomfield knows almost as little
about classics!  (Loud laughter from the schoolhouse.)  Why, gentlemen,
do you mean to say you think a fellow who couldn't translate `Balbus
hopped over a wall' without looking up three words in a lexicon is fit
to be a Willoughby captain?"  (Laughter from the juniors, and cries of
"Time!" from Parretts.) "I say not.  Even though he's a Parrett's boy,
and therefore can show a sign of intelligence!  (Laughter.)  No; what I
say is, whether we believe in him or not, Mr Riddell is captain; and
until you can show me a less bad one, I'll vote for him."

This oration, delivered with great animation and amidst constant
laughter, helped to put the meeting in rather better humour, all except
the Parrett's fellows, who did not enjoy it at all.

However, before any of them could make up his mind to reply, a shrill
voice was heard from the other end of the hall, "Sir!  It is time the
Welchers had a word!"

This innocent announcement caused a loud burst of laughter, in which
every one joined, especially when it was discovered that the orator was
none other than the youthful Mr Pilbury himself!

He stood surrounded by a small cluster of admiring juniors, who glared
defiantly out on the assembly generally, and "backed up their man" till
he could hardly breathe.

"It's all very well," screamed Pilbury.  (Loud cheers from Cusack and
Philpot.)  But here the chairman's hammer sounded and cries of "Order"
checked the orator's progress.

"The hon. member," said Isaacs, "cannot propose his motion till the
motion before the House is disposed of."

Pilbury scowled fiercely at the speaker.

"I _shall_ propose it," he cried, "and you'd better shut up, old Ikey!"

Game, amid much laughter, rose to order, and asked if these expressions
were parliamentary?

Isaacs said, "Certainly not, and Mr Pilbury must withdraw them."

Mr Pilbury said "he'd withdraw his grandmother," and attempted to
continue his speech, when Fairbairn rose and suggested to the hon.
member that if he would only wait a bit the House would be delighted to
hear him.  After this conciliatory advice Pilbury let himself be pulled
down into his seat by his admirers, and the debate on Game's amendment
continued.

It was hot and exciting.  The arguments were mostly on the side of the
schoolhouse, and the vehemence on the side of Parrett's.  Once or twice
a Welcher dropped in a speech, attacking both parties and once or twice
a schoolhouse boy spoke in favour of Bloomfield, or a Parrett's boy
spoke in favour of Riddell.  At last, after about an hour's angry
debate, the House divided.  That is, all those in favour of Game's
amendment moved over to one side of the room, and those against it to
the other, and those who did not want to vote at all kept their seats in
the middle.

There was no need to count the numbers of the rival parties as they
stood.  Only about twenty-five stood beside Fairbairn and the
schoolhouse, while nearly two hundred and fifty boys crowded the side of
the room along which Game and his followers took their stand.  The
triumph of the opponents to the new captain was complete, and the school
had given him and the head master a most emphatic reply to the late
appointment.

Riddell would have much preferred to be allowed to withdraw of his own
accord rather than remain to be beaten.  But his friends had all opposed
the idea as cowardly, and he had given in to them.  He now took his
defeat very placidly, and even joined in the laughter which greeted Mr
Isaac's call.

"Now, Mr Pilbury!"

Mr Pilbury was "off his speech."  If he had been allowed to proceed
when he first rose, he had the steam up and could have let out, as he
told his friends; but now the spirit had been taken out of him.
However, he was compelled to make an effort, and began as before, "Sir,
it is time the Welchers had a word."

He didn't mean anything funny, he was certain, but everybody laughed.

"Why shouldn't old Cusack here--" ("Order, order")--"What's the row?"

Isaacs informed the hon. gentleman that members of that House were
always called "Mr"

"Mr Cusack, then," said Pilbury, "it's just a dodge of Ikey to floor me
in my speech.  Why shouldn't old Mr Cusack-- Eh, what say?"

This was addressed to Philpot, who was eagerly trying to prompt his
ally.

"Go it, let out at them," he whispered.

"Why shouldn't old Mr Cusack go it and let out--that is--all right,
Philpot, you pig, I'll pay you out, see if I don't.  Why shouldn't old
Mr Cusack, gentlemen--er--"

"Do," suggested Cusack himself.

"Do," shouted Pilbury, "do, gentlemen--do?  Why shouldn't--(all right,
Gus Telson, I see you chucking darts)--why shouldn't old Mr Cusack--"

"Does any gentleman second the amendment?" asked Mr Isaacs, evidently
getting hungry and anxious to be released from his post.

"Yes," shouted Philpot, "Mr Gentlemen, yes, I do--and--"

"Wait a bit, you howling cad," exclaimed Pilbury, in excitement.  "I've
not done yet!"

"Mr Philpot!" said Mr Isaacs.

"Philpot be blowed," cried the irate Pilbury, "wait till I'm done."

"Order, order," shouted members on all sides.

"Moved by Mr Pilbury, seconded by Mr Philpot," began Isaacs.

"Easy all," cried Philpot, "I've not spoken yet."

"Order, order," cried Isaacs.

"Order yourself," retorted Philpot, "I've got a right to speak."

"So have I," said Pilbury, "and I was up first."

"Forge away," said Philpot, "you'll be all right."

"Nothing to do with you if I _am_ all right," snarled Pilbury.

"You seem to think you're the only fellow can talk."

"Ays to the right, noes to the left," said Isaacs, in a loud voice.

The House instantly divided, and before either Pilbury or Philpot could
make up their minds about proceeding, the motion had been declared lost
by a majority of three hundred odd to one.

In a great state of wrath the injured Welchers left the hall, making as
much noise as they possibly could in doing so.

As soon as they were gone, Isaacs put the question that Bloomfield be
elected Speaker, and this was carried without a division, the
schoolhouse fellows not caring to demand one.

Amid loud and long-continued cheers the new Speaker took his seat, and
as soon as silence could be restored, said, "I'm much obliged to you all
for your vote.  I hope Willoughby won't go down.  I'll try to prevent it
for one.  (Loud cheers.)  I'm very proud to be elected your Speaker, and
feel it quite as much honour as if I was captain of the school."  (Loud
cries of "So you are!"--from Parrett's.) "In reference to what one
gentleman said about me, I hope you won't believe it.  I'm twelfth in
classics.  (Laughter from the schoolhouse and terrific applause from
Parrett's.)  That's all I have to say."

The remaining business of the afternoon was dull compared with what had
gone before.  The elections for the various posts in the Government did
not excite very much enthusiasm, especially among the juniors, who
deserted the meeting soon after they began.  After what had occurred it
is hardly to be wondered at that the partisans of Bloomfield and the
Parretts had the matter pretty much in their own hands, and used it to
their own advantage.  When the list was finally declared, it was found
that only one schoolhouse fellow, Porter, had a place in the "Cabinet."
He was appointed Chancellor of the Exchequer.  Game was First Lord of
the Admiralty, Wibberly, War Secretary, Ashley, Home Secretary, and
Strutter, a comparatively obscure boy, Premier.  All these, as well as
the other officers appointed, were Parrett's fellows, who may have
flattered themselves their election was a simple recognition of merit in
each case, but who, taken altogether, were a long way off being the most
distinguished boys of Willoughby.

Parliament did not adjourn till a late hour that evening, and no one was
particularly sorry when it did.



CHAPTER NINE.

A SCIENTIFIC AFTERNOON IN WELCH'S.

"Pil," said Cusack, a few days after the unfortunate end to that
gentleman's "motion" in Parliament--"Pil, it strikes me we can do pretty
much as we like these times.  What do you think?"

"Well, I don't know," said Pil, meditatively; "I got a pot from Coates
to-day for playing fives against the schoolhouse door."

"Oh yes; of course, if you fool about out of doors you'll get potted.
What I mean is, indoors here there's no one to pull us up that I can
see."

"Oh!  I see what you mean," said Pil.  "Yes, you're about right there."

"Gully, you know," continued Cusack--"Gully's no good as master of a
house; he's always grubbing over his books.  Bless his heart! it doesn't
matter to him whether we cut one another's throats!"

"Not it!  I dare say he'd be rather glad if we did," replied Pilbury.

"Then there's Tucker.  No fear of his reporting us, eh!"

"Rather not! when he's always breaking rules himself, and slinking down
to Shellport, and kicking up rows with the other chaps.  What do you
think I found in his brush-and-comb bag the other day?  Thirteen cigar-
ends!  He goes about collecting them in Shellport, I suppose, and
finishes them up on the quiet."

"Oh, he's a beast!" said Cusack.  "And old Silk's about as bad.  He
doesn't care a bit what we do as long as he enjoys himself.  Don't
suppose he'd be down on us, do you?"

"No fear!  He might pot us now and then for appearances' sake, but he
wouldn't report us, I guess."

"And suppose he did," said Cusack; "the new captain's as big a muff as
all the lot of them put together.  He's afraid to look at a chap.
Didn't you hear what he did to the Parrett's kids the other day?"

"Yes; didn't I!" exclaimed Pilbury.  "He let them all off, and begged
their pardons or something.  But I'm jolly glad Parrett was down on
them.  He's stopped their river-play, and they won't be able to show up
at the regatta."

"I'm jolly glad!" said Cusack; "chaps like them deserve to catch it,
don't they, Pil?"

"Rather!" replied Pilbury.

A silence ensued, during which both heroes were doubtless meditating
upon the unexampled iniquities of the Parrett juniors.

Presently Pilbury observed somewhat dolefully, "Beastly slow, isn't it,
Cusack?"

"What's beastly slow?"

"Oh, everything!  No fun kicking up a row if there's no one to pull you
up.  I'm getting sick of rows."

Cusack stared at his friend with rather concerned looks.  He could not
be well, surely, or he would never come out with sentiments like those.

"Fact is," continued Pilbury, contemplatively balancing himself on one
foot on the corner of the fender, "I've half a notion to go in for being
steady this term, old man, just for a change."

As if to suit the action to the word, the fender suddenly capsized under
him, and shot him head first into the waistcoat of his friend.

Cusack solemnly restored him to his feet and replied, "Rather a rum
start, isn't it?"

"Well," said Pilbury, examining his shin to see if it had been grazed by
the treacherous fender, "I don't see what else there is to do.  Any chap
can fool about.  I'm fagged of fooling about; ain't you?"

"I don't know," said Cusack, doubtfully.  "It's not such a lark as it
used to be, certainly."

"What do you say to going it steady this term?" asked Pilbury.

"Depends on what you mean by `steady.'  If you mean never going out of
bounds or using cribs, I'm not game."

"Oh, I don't mean that, you know," said Pilbury.  "What I mean is,
shutting up rows, and that sort of thing."

"What can a fellow do?" asked Cusack, dubiously.

"Oh, lots to do, you know," said Pilbury--"dominoes, you know, or
spellicans.  I've got a box at home."

"Jolly slow always playing dominoes," said Cusack, "or spellicans."

"Well, then, there's--"

"Hold hard!" broke in Cusack, struck with a sudden idea.  "What's the
name of the thing old Philpot's always at?"

"What, chemistry?  Jolly good idea, old man!  Let's go in for that."

"Not a bad lark," said Cusack--"lots of explosions and things.  Philpot
told me he could make Pharaoh's serpents, and smells like rotten eggs.
We'll get him to coach us, eh, Pil?"

"I'm game," said Pil, no less delighted than his friend at this happy
thought.

And, full of their new idea of "going it steady," the two worthies
forthwith sallied out and made hue and cry for Philpot.

Unless Philpot in his leisure moments was engaged in some predatory
expedition, or happened to be serving a term of imprisonment in the
detention room, it was a pretty safe guess to look for him in the
laboratory, where as an ardent student of science he was permitted to
resort, and within certain limits practise for himself.  Philpot himself
bore the office of "second under bottle-washer" in Willoughby; that is,
he assisted the boy who assisted the chemistry fag who assisted the
assistant master to the science master; and _on_ the strength of this
distinction he was allowed some special privileges in the way of
improving himself in his favourite branch of study.  He was on the whole
rather a promising pupil, and had a very fair idea of the properties of
the several substances he was allowed to experiment with.  Indeed he had
had to pass an examination and perform some experiments in the presence
of the master before he was allowed to enter the laboratory as a private
student at all.  No one knew exactly how he distinguished himself on
that occasion, or how he succeeded with his experiments, but it was
well-known that, if he had succeeded then, he had never done so since;
that is, according to anybody's idea but his own.

Cusack and Pilbury found him busy blowing through a tube into a bottle
of water, looking very like a purple cherub bursting at the cheeks.  He
was so engrossed with his task that he did not even notice their entry,
indeed it was not till Pilbury had stepped behind him and clapped him
suddenly on either side of the face, making his cheeks explode like a
small balloon, and spilling the contents of his bottle all over the
table, that he became aware that he had visitors.  "What a frightful
idiot you are, Pilbury!" he exclaimed; "you've spoilt that whole
experiment.  I wish you'd shut up fooling and get out."

"Awfully sorry, old man," said Pilbury, "but you did look so jolly
puffed out, you know; didn't he, Cusack?"

"Now you've done, you'd better hook it," said Philpot, "you've not got
leave to come here."

"Oh, don't be riled," said Cusack; "the fact is, Pil and I came to see
if you'd put us up to a thing or two in this sort of business."

"We've gone on the steady, Phil, you know," explained Pilbury, in
conciliatory tones, "and thought it would be rather jolly if we three
worked up a little chemistry together."

"We'd watch you do the things at first, of course," said Cusack, "till
we twigged all the dodges."

"And it would be jolly good practice for you, you know, in case ever old
Mix-'em-up is laid up, and you have to lecture instead."

Philpot regarded his two would-be pupils doubtfully, but softened
considerably as they went on.

"You'll have to promise not to fool," said he, presently, "or there'll
be a row."

"Oh, rather; we won't touch anything without asking, will we, Pil?"
replied Cusack.  "Awfully brickish of you, Philpot."

Philpot took the compliment very complacently, and the two students
settled themselves one on either side of the table and waited for
operations to begin.

"Wire in, old man," said Pilbury, encouragingly; "cut all the jaw, you
know, and start with the experiments.  Can't you give us a jolly flare-
up to begin with?"

"All serene," said Philpot, who had now quite recovered his humour, and
was pleased to find himself in the position of an instructor of youth,
"wait a bit, then."

He reached down from a shelf a large saucer containing water, in which
lay a round substance rather like the end of a stick of peppermint-rock.
On this Philpot began to operate with a pair of scissors, greatly to
the amusement of his spectators, for try all he would he couldn't get
hold of it.

"What are you trying to do?" said Cusack.

"Cut a bit off," said Philpot, trying to stick the substance with a long
bodkin, in order to hold it steady.

"Why, that's not the way to cut it, you old dolt," said Pilbury.  "Here,
I'll do it," and he advanced to the saucer.

"What'll you do?"

"Why, fish it out, of course, and cut it then."

"You'd better not try.  It's phosphorus."

"Is it, though--and what does it do?"

"Burn you, rather, unless you keep it in water.  Ah, got him at last."

So saying Philpot triumphantly spiked the obstinate piece of phosphorus,
and succeeded in cutting off a small piece.

"Is that what makes the flare-up?" asked Cusack.

"Yes, wait a bit, till I get the jar."

"What jar?" asked Pilbury.  "Here's one; will this do?"

"Look out, I say!" exclaimed Philpot, in great excitement; "let it go,
will you?"

"What's the row?" asked Pilbury and Cusack, both in alarm.

"Why, that's got my oxygen in it," cried Philpot, securing the bottle
and gently lifting it on to the table, taking care to hold the glass
plate that covered the mouth in its place.

"Got his what in it?" asked Cusack.

"Oxygen.  It took me an hour to get."

"There's nothing in that empty jar," said Pilbury, laughing.  "Isn't
there, though?" said Philpot; "it's full."

"You mean to say that jar's full of something," said Cusack.  "Look
here, don't you try to stuff us up.  What's the use of saying it's full
when it's empty?"

"It's full of gas, I tell you," said Philpot.  "Don't you talk till you
know."

This rebuke somewhat silenced the two devotees of science, who, however,
continued to regard the jar sceptically and rather contemptuously.

Philpot next dived into a drawer and drew from it a large cork, through
which passed a long wire having a small cup at the lower end.

"Now look out," he said.

He proceeded to shovel the small piece of phosphorus into the little cup
under the cork, and drawing it out of the water, applied a light.  The
phosphorus lit up immediately, and at the same instant he slipped the
glass plate off the mouth of the oxygen jar, and clapped the cork, with
the wire and cup hanging down from it, in its place.  The effect was
magical.  The moment the phosphorus was introduced into the oxygen it
flared up with a brilliancy that perfectly dazzled the spectators, and
made the entire jar look like one mass of light.

The two pupils were delighted; Philpot was complacently triumphant; when
all of a sudden there was a loud report, the illumination suddenly
ceased, and the jar, broken to pieces, collapsed.

Pilbury and Cusack, who at the first alarm had retreated somewhat
suddenly to the door, returned as soon as they perceived there was no
danger, and were profuse in their praises of the experiment and the
experimenter.

"Awfully prime, that was!" cried Cusack; "wasn't it, Pil?"

"Stunning!" said Pilbury.

"Jolly grind that jar bursting up, though," said Philpot, with a
troubled countenance.

"Why, wasn't that part of the show-off?" asked Pilbury.  "Part of the
show-off!  No!" exclaimed Philpot.  "I thought it was the best part of
it all," said Cusack.  "So did I.  No end of a bust up it was."

"You see," said Philpot, solemnly, "what I ought to have done was to
dilute the oxygen with a little air first, but you fellows flurried me
so I forgot all about it."

"Jolly glad you did, or we'd have missed the bust up," said Cusack.  "I
say, can't we try now?  I know the way to do it quite well."

But this proposal Philpot flatly declined to accede to, and could only
appease their disappointment by promising to perform one other
experiment for their benefit.

This was of rather an elaborate nature.  The operator first placed in a
saucer some stuff which he explained was iodine.  On to this he poured
from a small bottle which smelt uncommonly like smelling-salts a small
quantity of liquid, and then proceeded to stir the concoction up.

The two students were not to be restrained from offering their services
at this point, and Philpot yielded.  After they had stirred to their
hearts' content, Philpot ordered them to desist and let it stand a bit.

This they consented to do, and occupied the interval in taking down and
smelling all the bottles within reach, with a hardihood that frightened
the wits out of poor Philpot.

"Look here," he said, when presently Pilbury suddenly dropped one bottle
with a crash to the floor, and began violently spitting and choking,
"you promised you wouldn't touch anything, and I'll shut up if you go on
fooling any more.  Serves you right, Pil, so it does."

It was some time before the unfortunate Pil recovered from the results
of his unlucky experiment, and even when he did, the odours from the
broken bottle were so offensive that the windows had to be opened wide
before the atmosphere of the room became tolerable.  It wouldn't have
taken so long, only it was deemed advisable to shut the door at the same
time to prevent the smell getting outside and telling tales to the
school at large.

By the time this pleasant diversion was disposed of the concoction in
the saucer had recovered from its stirring, and Philpot declared it was
ready to go ahead with.

He therefore placed another saucer upside down upon this one, and
carefully strained off between the two all the liquid, leaving only a
black powder in the saucer, which he announced was iodide of nitrogen.

"Jolly rum name," said Cusack, "what does it do?"

"You wait a bit," said Philpot, scooping the wet powder up with the end
of a knife and spreading it out on small separate pieces of paper.

"Fellow's born a chemist," said Pilbury, watching him admiringly;
"that's just what old Joram does at the dispensary.  What's all the
spread out for?"

"To dry it," said Philpot.

"Why don't you stick it on the shovel and hold it over the gas?"
suggested Cusack.  "Jolly fag waiting till it dries itself."

"Oh, it won't be long," said Philpot.

"And what's it going to do when it's done?" asked Cusack.

"Hope it'll flare-up like the other," said Pilbury.

"It ought to," said Philpot.

"Ought it?  Hurrah!  I say, Cusack, what a jolly clever beggar old Phil
is, isn't he?"

"Rather," said the admiring Cusack, perching himself on the side of the
table and swinging his legs to pass the time.

"Oh," said Philpot, condescendingly, "it only wants a little practice."

"Rather; I mean to practise hard, don't you, Cusack?"

Cusack said, Yes he did, and proceeded to prowl round the laboratory in
a manner that made Philpot very uncomfortable.

It was a relief to all parties when the powders were at last pronounced
to be dry.

"Now," said Philpot, taking up one of the small papers gently on the
flat of his hand, "we shall have to be careful."

"That little lot won't make half a flare," suggested Pilbury; "let's
have two or three at once."

So saying he lifted up one of the other papers and emptied its contents
into the paper on Philpot's hand.

"Look out," said Philpot, "it'll blow up."

"Eh, what?" cried Cusack, jumping off the table in his excitement at the
glorious news.

As he did so Philpot uttered a cry, which was accompanied by a loud
crackling explosion, and a dense volume of blue smoke, which made the
boys turn pale with terror.  For a moment neither of them could move or
utter a sound except Philpot, who danced round and round the room in the
smoke howling and wringing his hand.

When at last they did recover presence of mind enough to inquire of
their preceptor if he was injured, it was in tones of terrible alarm.

"Oh, Phil, old man, are you hurt?  What was it?  We're so awfully sorry.
Is your hand blown off?"

"No," said Philpot, continuing to wring his injured hand, but otherwise
considerably recovered, "it was your fault jumping off the table.  The
beastly stuff goes off almost if you look at it.  It's lucky it wasn't
all dry, or I might have had my eyes out!"

It was a great relief to find matters were no worse, and that in a very
few minutes Philpot's hand had recovered from the smart of the
explosion.  This accident, however, decided the young enthusiasts that
for the present they had perhaps had enough chemistry for one lesson.

In a few days, however, they had all sufficiently got over the shock of
the last afternoon's experiments to decide on a fresh venture, and these
lessons continued, on and off, during the rest of the term.  It can
hardly be said that by the end of the term Pilbury or Cusack knew any
more about chemistry than they had known this first day.  They
persistently refused to listen to any of Philpot's "jaw," as they rudely
termed his attempts at explanation, and confined themselves to the
experiments.  However, though in many respects they wasted their time
over their new pursuit, these volatile youths might have been a good
deal worse employed.

In fact, if every Welcher had been no worse employed that house would
not have brought all the discredit on Willoughby which it did.  As it
was, everybody there seemed to follow his own sweet will without a
single thought for the good of the school or the welfare of his fellows.
The heads of the house, Tucker and Silk, did not even attempt to set a
good example, and that being so, it was hardly to be expected those
below them would be much interested to supply the deficiencies.

On the very afternoon when Pilbury and Cusack had been sitting at the
feet of the learned Philpot in the laboratory, Silk, a monitor, had,
along with Gilks, of the schoolhouse, a monitor too, gone down to
Shellport, against all rules, taking Wyndham junior, one of their
special _proteges_, with them.

They appeared to be pretty familiar with the ins and outs of the big
town, and though on this occasion they occupied their time in no more
disgraceful a way than waiting on the harbour pier to see the mail
steamer come in, they yet felt, all three of them, as if they would by
no means like to be seen by any one who knew them.

And it appeared as if they were going to be spared this embarrassment,
for they encountered no one they knew till they were actually on their
way home.

Then, just as they were passing the station door, they met, to their
horror, a boy in a college cap just coming out with a parcel under his
arm.  To their astonishment, it proved to be no other than Riddell
himself.

Riddell, who had come down by a special "permit" from the doctor to get
a parcel--containing, by the way, his new boating flannels--at first
looked as astonished and uncomfortable as the three truants themselves.
He would sooner have had anything happen to him than such a meeting.
However, as usual, his sense of duty came to his rescue.

He advanced to the group in a nervous manner, and, addressing Wyndham,
said, hurriedly, "Please come to my room this evening, Wyndham," and
then, without waiting for a reply, or staying to notice the ominous
looks of the two monitors, he departed, and proceeded as fast as he
could back to Willoughby.



CHAPTER TEN.

WYNDHAM JUNIOR AND HIS FRIENDS.

Wyndham, the old captain, just before leaving Willoughby, had done his
best to interest Riddell in the welfare of his young brother, a Limpet
in the Fourth.

"I wish you'd look after him now and then, Riddell," he said; "he's not
a bad fellow, I fancy, but he's not got quite enough ballast on board,
and unless there's some one to look after him he's very likely to get
into bad hands."

Riddell promised he would do his best, and the elder brother was most
grateful.

"I shall be ever so much easier _now_," he said, "and it's awfully good
of you, Riddell.  I wouldn't care for the young 'un to go wrong, you
know.  Thanks very much, old man."

And so it came to pass that among the legacies which the old captain
left behind him at Willoughby, the one which fell to Riddell was a young
brother, slightly rickety in character and short of ballast.

A parting request like Wyndham's would have been very hard for any
friend to refuse; but to Riddell the promise "to look after young
Wyndham" meant a great deal more than it would have done to many other
fellows.  It was not enough for him to make occasional inquiries as to
his young _protege_, or even to try to shield him when he fell into
scrapes.  Riddell's idea of looking after a rickety youngster included a
good deal more than this, and from the moment the old captain had left,
amid all his _own_ tribulations and adversities, the thought of young
Wyndham had saddled itself on Riddell's conscience with an uncomfortable
weight.

This was the reason why he made the boy free of his study, and gave up a
good deal of his own time in helping him with his work.  And it was the
same reason which prompted him on the afternoon spoken of in the last
chapter, much against his inclination, to accost the three truants in
Shellport, and request Wyndham to come to his study.

"You're in for a nice sermon, my boy," said Gilks, as the three walked
home.

"I wish he hadn't seen us," said Wyndham, feeling uncomfortable.

"Why, you don't suppose he'll lick you?" said Silk, laughing.

"No, but he'll be awfully vexed."

"Vexed!" cried Gilks.  "Poor fellow!  How I'd like to comfort him!  Take
my advice and forget all about going to his study.  He'll not be sorry,
I can tell you."

"Oh, I must go," said Wyndham.  "I don't want to offend him."

"Kind of you," said Silk, laughing.  "Funny thing how considerate a
fellow can be to another fellow who does his lessons for him."

Wyndham blushed, but said nothing.  He knew these two companions were
not the sort of boys his brother would have cared to have him associate
with, nor did he particularly like them himself.  But when two senior
boys take the trouble to patronise a junior and make fun of his
"peculiarities," as they called his scruples, it is hardly surprising
that the youngster comes out a good way to meet his patrons.

Wyndham, by the way, was rather more than a youngster.  He was a Limpet,
and looked back on the days of fagging as a long-closed chapter of his
history.  Had he been a junior like Telson or Pilbury, it would have
been less likely either that Game and Silk would take such trouble to
cultivate his acquaintance, or that he would submit himself so easily to
their patronage.  As it was, he was his own master.  Nobody had a right
to demand his services, neither had he yet attained to the
responsibilities of a monitor.  He could please himself, and therefore
yielded himself unquestioningly to the somewhat flattering attentions of
the two seniors.

No, not quite unquestioningly.  Short as was the time since his brother
had left, it had been long enough for Riddell to let the boy see that he
wished to be his friend.  He had never told him so in words, but Wyndham
could guess what all the kind interest which the new captain evinced in
him meant.  And it was the thought of this that kept alive the one or
two scruples he still retained in joining himself to the society of
Gilks and Silk.

And so he declined the invitation of these two friends to defy the
captain's summons.

"Well," said Gilks, "if you must put your head into the lion's mouth,
you must, mustn't he, Silk?  But I say, as you _are_ to get pulled up, I
don't see why you shouldn't have all the fun you can for your money.
What do you say to a game of skittles at Beamish's?"

"_What_ a nice boy you are!" said Silk, laughing; "the young 'un doesn't
know Beamish's."

"Not know Beamish's!--at the Aquarium!" said Gilks.

"No.  What is he?" inquired Wyndham.

"He's the Aquarium!" said Gilks, laughing.

"And do they play skittles in the Aquarium?" asked the boy.

"Rather!" said Silk; "it amuses the fishes, you know."  Beamish's was,
as Gilks had said, another name for the Shellport Aquarium--a
disreputable place of resort, whose only title to the name of Aquarium
was that it had in it, in an obscure corner which nobody ever explored,
a small tank, which might have contained fishes if there had been any
put into it.  As it was, the last thing any one went to Beamish's for
was to study fishes, the other attractions of the place--the skittles,
bowls, and refreshment bars--being far more popular.  These things in
themselves, of course, were not enough to make Beamish's a bad place.
That character was supplied by the company that were mostly in the habit
of frequenting it, of which it is enough to say it was the very reverse
of select.

At this time of day, however, the place was almost empty, and when,
after a good deal of chaff and persuasion, Wyndham was induced to take a
little turn round the place, he was surprised to find it so quiet and
unobjectionable.  The boys had a short game at skittles and a short game
at bowls, and bought a few buns and an ice at the refreshment stall, and
then departed schoolwards.

They reached Willoughby in good time for call-over, no one except
Riddell being aware of their pleasant expedition.  Still Wyndham, when
it was all _over_, did not feel altogether comfortable.  Not that he
thought what he had done was very bad, or that he had sinned in
deceiving the masters and breaking the rules of the school.  What
troubled him was that he knew Riddell would be vexed.

He repaired to the captain's study with his books as usual after evening
chapel and found him busy over his work.

But as soon as the boy entered, Riddell pushed the papers away rather
nervously.

"Well, Wyndham," said he, "I'm glad you've come."

Wyndham deposited his books and looked rather uncomfortable.

Riddell had rather hoped the boy would refer to the subject first, but
he did not.  Riddell therefore said, "I was sorry to see you down in
Shellport this afternoon, Wyndham.  You hadn't a permit, had you?"

"No," said Wyndham.

"It's hardly the thing, is it?" said the captain, quietly, after a
pause.

His voice, devoid of all anger or self-importance, made Wyndham still
more uncomfortable.

"I'm awfully sorry," said he.  "I suppose I oughtn't to have gone.  I
beg your pardon, Riddell."

"Oh!" said Riddell, "don't do that, please."

"You know," said Wyndham, "as those two took me, it didn't seem to be
much harm.  We only went to see the steamer come in."

"The thing is," said Riddell, "it was against the rules."

"But Gilks and Silk are both monitors, aren't they?"

"They are," said the captain, with a touch of bitterness in his tone.

There was another pause, this time a long one.  Neither boy seemed
inclined to return to the subject.  Wyndham opened his books and made a
pretence of beginning his work, and Riddell fidgeted with the papers
before him.  In the mind of the latter a hurried debate was going on.

"What had I better do?  I might send him up to the doctor and perhaps
get him expelled.  It might be the best thing for him too, for if those
two have got hold of him he's sure to go wrong.  I can't do anything to
keep him from them.  And yet, I promised old Wynd--I must try; I might
help to keep him straight.  God help me!"

Is the reader astonished that the captain of a great public school
should so far forget himself as to utter a secret prayer in his own
study about such a matter as the correction of a young scapegrace?  It
_was_ an unusual thing to do, certainly; and probably if Wyndham had
known what was passing in the captain's mind he would have thought more
poorly of his brother's friend than he did.  But I am not quite sure,
reader, whether Riddell was committing such an absurdity as some persons
might think; or whether you or I, or any other fellow in a similar
position, would be any the worse for forgetting ourselves in the same
way.  What do you think?  It is worth thinking over, when you have time.

"God help me," said Riddell to himself, and he felt his mind wonderfully
cleared already as he said it.

Clearer, that is, as to what he ought to do, but still rather
embarrassed as to how to do it.  But he meant to try.

"I say, Wyndham," he said, in his quiet way.  "I want to ask your
advice."

"What about?" asked Wyndham, looking up in surprise.  "About those
fellows?"

"Not exactly.  It's more about myself," said the captain.

"What about you?" asked Wyndham.

"Why, there's a fellow in the school I'm awfully anxious to do some good
to," began Riddell.

"Rather a common failing of yours," said Wyndham.

"Wanting to do it is more common than doing it," said Riddell; "but I
don't know how to tackle this fellow, Wyndham."

"Who is he?  Do I know him?" asked the boy.

"I'm not sure that you know him particularly well," said the captain.
"He's not a bad fellow; in fact he has a lot of good in him."

"Is he a Limpet?" asked Wyndham.

"But," continued Riddell, not noticing the question, "he's got a horrid
fault.  He won't stand up for himself, Wyndham."

"Oh," observed Wyndham, "there's a lot of them like that--regular
cowards they are."

"Exactly, this fellow's one of them.  He's always funking it."

Wyndham laughed.

"I know who you mean--Tedbury, isn't it?"

"No, that's not his name," said Riddell.  "He's a nicer sort of fellow
than Tedbury.  There are one or two fellows that are always down on him,
too.  They see he's no pluck, and so they think they can do what they
like with him."

"Meekins gets a good deal mauled about by some of the others," said
Wyndham.

"This fellow gets a good deal more damaged than Meekins," said the
captain.  "In fact he gets so mauled his friends will soon hardly be
able to recognise him."

Wyndham looked sharply at the speaker.  Riddell was quite grave and
serious, and proceeded quietly, "The worst of it is, this fellow's quite
well able to stick up for himself if he likes, and could easily hold his
own.  Only he's lazy, or else he likes getting damaged."

"Are you making all this up?" demanded Wyndham colouring.

Riddell took no notice of the inquiry, but continued rather more
earnestly, "Now I'd like your advice, Wyndham, old fellow.  I want to do
this fellow a good turn.  Which do you suppose would be the best turn to
do him; to pitch into the fellows that are always doing him harm? or to
try to persuade him to stick up for himself and not let them do just
what they like with him, eh?"

Wyndham had seen it all before the question was ended, and hung down his
head in silence.

Riddell did not disturb him, but waited quietly, and, if truth be told,
anxiously, till he should reply.

Presently the boy looked up with a troubled face, and said, "I know I'm
an awful fool, Riddell."

"But you're not obliged to be," said the captain, cheerily.

"I'll try not to be, I really will," said Wyndham.  "Only--"

"Only what?" asked Riddell, after a pause.

"Only somehow I never think of it at the time."

"I know," said Riddell, kindly.

"Why only this afternoon," said Wyndham, drawn out by the sympathy of
his companion, "I tried to object to going down to the town, and they
made up some excuse, so that I would have seemed like a regular prig to
hold out, and so I went.  I'm awfully sorry now.  I know I'm a coward,
Riddell; I ought to have stuck out."

"I think you ought," said Riddell; "they would probably have laughed at
you, and possibly tried to bully you a bit.  But you can take care of
yourself, I fancy, when it comes to that, eh?"

"I can about the bullying," said Wyndham.

"And so," said Riddell, "you really advise me to say to this fellow I
was telling you about, to stand up for himself and not let himself be
led about by any one?"

"Except you, Riddell," said the boy.

"No," said Riddell, "not even me.  _I_ can't profess to tell you all you
ought to do."

"I should like to know who can, if you can't?" said Wyndham.

"I think we both know," said Riddell, gravely.

The conversation ended here.  For an hour and a half after that each boy
was busy over his work, and neither spoke a word.  Their thoughts may
not all have been in the books before them; in fact it may safely be
said they were not.  But they were thoughts that did not require words.
Only when Wyndham rose to go, and wished his friend good-night, Riddell
indirectly referred to the subject of their talk.

"By the way, Wyndham, Isaacs has given up the school librarianship; I
suppose you know.  How would you like to take it?"

"What has a fellow got to do?" asked Wyndham.

"You have to issue the new books every Monday and collect the old ones
every Saturday.  There are about one hundred boys subscribe, and they
order the new book when they give up the old, so it's simple enough."

"Takes a lot of time, doesn't it?" said Wyndham.

"No, not very much, I believe.  Isaacs shirked it a good deal, and you'd
have to keep the lists rather better than he did.  But I fancy you'd
enjoy it rather; and," he added, "it will be an excuse for seeing less
of some not very nice friends."

Wyndham said he would take the post, and went off happier in his own
mind than he had been for a long time, and leaving Riddell happier too,
despite all his failures and vexations elsewhere, than he had been since
he became captain of Willoughby.

But, though happy, he could hardly be elated.  His effort that evening
had certainly been a success, but how long would its effects last?

Riddell was not fool enough to imagine that his promise to old Wyndham
was now discharged by that one evening's talk.  He knew the boy well
enough to be sure that the task was only just begun.  And his
thankfulness at having made a beginning was tempered with many anxieties
for the future.  And he might well be anxious!

For a day or two Wyndham was an altered boy.  He surprised his masters
by his attention in class, and his schoolfellows--all except Riddell--by
the steadiness of his behaviour.  He avoided his former companions, and
devoted himself with enthusiasm to his new duties as librarian, to which
the doctor, at Riddell's suggestion, had appointed him.

This alteration, approved of as it was in many quarters, was by no means
appreciated by two boys at Willoughby.  It was not that they cared
twopence about the society of their young Limpet, or that they had any
moral objection to good behaviour and steady work.  What irritated Gilks
and Silk over the business was that they saw in it the hand of an enemy,
and felt that the present change in their _protege_ was due to Riddell's
influence in opposition to their own.  The two monitors felt hurt at
this; it was like a direct snub aimed at them, and, considering the
quarter from which it came, they did not like it at all.

"This sort of thing won't do," said Gilks to his friend one day, shortly
after Riddell's talk with Wyndham.  "The young 'un's cut our
acquaintance."

"Hope we shall recover in time," said Silk, sneering.  "Yes; he's gone
decidedly `pi.' the last week."

"It's all that reverend prig's doing!" growled Gilks.  "I mean to spoil
his little game for him, though," added he.  "How'll you do it?" asked
Silk.  "That's just it!  I wish I knew," said Gilks.

"Oh! leave it to me, I'll get at him somehow.  I don't suppose he's too
far gone yet."

Accordingly Silk took an early opportunity of meeting his young friend.

"Ah!  Wyndham," said he, casually; "don't see much of you now."

"No," said Wyndham, shortly; "I'm busy with the library."

"Oh!  I'm afraid, though, you're rather glad of an excuse to cut Silks
and me after the row we got you into last week."

"You didn't get me into any row," said Wyndham.  "What! didn't he lick
you for it?  Ah!  I see how it is.  He's afraid you'd let out on him for
being down too.  Rather a good dodge too.  Gilks and I half thought of
reporting him, but we didn't."

"He had a permit, hadn't he?"

"Oh, yes--rather!  I don't doubt that.  Just like Brown's, the town
boy's excuses.  Writes them himself."

"I'm certain Riddell wouldn't do such a thing," said Wyndham, warming.

"I never said he would," replied Silk, seeing he was going a little too
far.  "You see, captains don't want permits.  There's no one to pull
them up.  But I say, I'm awfully sorry about last week."

"Oh! it doesn't matter," said Wyndham, who could not help being rather
gratified to hear a monitor making apologies to him; "only I don't mean
to go down again."

"No, of course not; and if Gilks suggests it I'll back you up.  By the
way," he added, in tones of feigned alarm, "I suppose you didn't tell
him about going to Beamish's, did you?"

"No," said Wyndham, whose conscience had already reproached him several
times for not having confessed the fact.

"I'm awfully glad of that," said Silk, apparently much relieved.
"Whatever you do, keep that quiet."

"Why?" said Wyndham, rather concerned.

"My dear fellow, if that got out--well, I don't know what would happen."

"Why, is it a bad place, then?"

"Oh, no, not at all," laughed Silk with a mysterious wink.  "All serene
for follows like Gilks; but if it was known we'd taken _you_ there, we'd
be done for."

Wyndham began to feel he had had a narrow escape of "doing" for his two
patrons without knowing it.

"Promise you won't tell anybody," said Silk.

"Of course I won't," said Wyndham, rather scornful at the idea of
telling tales of a schoolfellow.

"Thanks; and I'll take care and say nothing about you, and Gilks won't
either, I know.  So it'll be all right.  I don't know what possessed the
fellow to suggest going in there."

All this was somewhat perplexing to Wyndham.  He had never imagined
Beamish's was such a terrible place, or that the penalty of being found
there was so severe.  He felt that he had had a fortunate escape, and
was glad Silk had put him up to it before he had let it out.

He became more friendly with his ally after this.  There is always a
bond of attraction where a common danger threatens, and Wyndham felt
that, however determined he was not to be led away any more by these
friends of his, it was just as well to be civil to them.

So he even accepted an invitation to come and have tea in Silk's room
that evening, to look at a volume of "Punch" the latter had got from
home, and to talk over the coming boat-race.

Had he overheard a hurried conversation which took place between Silk
and Gilks shortly afterwards in the Sixth 

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